The Sound of Sirens
by NerdySpaceBean
Summary: Human AU – The Doctor is a Detective Inspector by the name of John Smith. His new partner is a skilled young woman called Martha Jones who recently got a promotion. John's arch-nemesis is a criminal mastermind who goes by many aliases but is widely known as the Master. Will the Doctor ever out-wit him? (Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, or any of the characters.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

 **At the moment, I'm re-watching all of Doctor Who (well, just the reboot, not classic who), so I invented this AU while watching series 3 and I rapidly became obsessed with it. I just find the Doctor-Martha dynamic interesting, and also I adore the complexity of the Master's character as well as his relationship with the Doctor. I'll be updating this fic once a week, on a Wednesday. I hope you enjoy! Reviews and follows/favourites are always appreciated :)**

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 _Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

Groaning, Martha Jones lazily rolled over in bed, completely cocooned in her duvet. Her morning alarm, which she was currently reaching over to turn off, buzzed repetitively like a wasp overcome with tedium. She vaguely acknowledged the time: 6:15am. Sighing irritably, she placed a hand on her forehead and gently closed her eyes again.

 _Bzzzt. Bzz-_

"Alright! I heard you the first hundred times!" Martha yelled exasperatedly at the alarm as she abruptly threw her covers off her and swung her feet over the bed, slamming her fist down on the alarm button to end its malevolent reign. The next part of her automatic daily routine was to check her mobile for messages and emails, so she did; her phone revealed that she had one voicemail from her friend Vicky about meeting up, and a text from her boss to remind her to go straight to her office when she arrived at work that morning. Hang on, why did that ring a bell…?

That was it! Leaping up from her bed, Martha grinned to herself. In the depressing fog of having just woken up on a Monday morning, she'd almost forgotten – after recently going for a game-changing interview, Martha had received a promotion that would elevate her status from Detective Constable to Detective Sergeant, and that new job started today. The mere realisation of the beginning of a new chapter in her life immediately stimulated motivation within Martha, therefore she excitedly sprung across the room and delved into her wardrobe, attempting to select the perfect outfit for her new position. Eventually, she exited with a neat light-blue blouse, accompanied by a freshly ironed dark grey suit jacket and a matching knee-length pencil skirt.

At only twenty-nine years old, Martha Jones was rather young to be a Detective Sergeant, and prejudice due to her age was something she put up with every day. In fact, life as a young, female, black cop was certainly difficult to endure at times, however Martha more than proved her worth. The police had captured her interest ever since she was a child growing up in the heart of London, so she had committed herself to relentlessly pursuing this dream. She studied law at college and law and criminology at university for three years, attaining one of the highest grades in her whole year, before joining the police force, then the CID, and qualifying as a Detective Constable at an admirable twenty-five years of age. Martha was determined, strong-willed, intelligent, and all-round incredibly skilled at what she did. So, it was no surprise that she'd earned a promotion after only four years of being a constable.

After she'd got washed and dressed, Martha dashed downstairs, only to bump into her younger sister making breakfast.

"Oi, watch where you're going! We don't all have important, live-saving jobs to get to, you know." She teased.

Martha replied jokingly as a continuation of the familial banter. "Says the government girl. You never know, next week you might have an interview to be Harriet Jones' secretary."

"I wish! But you're right – one day, I might be your boss."

"I'd like to see you try. Now, budge over and let me get some toast, will you?" Martha playfully nudged, thought she genuinely needed to get breakfast due to her rush to get into work.

Yes, Martha was currently sharing a flat with her little sister, Letitia (Tish, for short) Jones, a twenty-five year old local government employee whose sights were set on bigger things. She one day hoped to work in Downing Street, even though her humble nature caused her to think that that was highly improbable. Martha got on well with Tish, although the younger sister had unfortunately always been a little envious of her older sister's success, however she would never make it obvious. Tish was immensely caring and clever, though her timidness was perhaps what held her back.

"Right," Martha declared as she poured a glass of orange juice, then rapidly downed it. "I don't have time to stay for much longer, so it's breakfast-on-the-go for me. See you later, Tish." The older sister placed her empty glass in the sink, grabbed a hastily buttered slice of toast, and planted a light kiss on the top of her sister's head before exiting the kitchen.

"Good luck sis! Byeee-" That was all that Tish had time to say before the front door of their apartment slammed shut as Martha departed.

Upon entering the police building (aka. a giant stack of offices), Martha practically jogged to the coffee machine on the third floor – her department – and rushed to make a standard latte before she headed for her boss' office. Just as Martha exited the lift, much to her humiliation, she ran straight into a man, probably in his early 60s, causing the files he was holding to scatter all over the corridor floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry – here, let me help." Martha instantly bent down and scrambled to retrieve his files, remaining extremely apologetic.

"Don't worry about it, dear. I'll pick up the rest, it's alright-"

"No! No, I've got them, it's fine." Before the old man could protest, Martha had picked up all of his papers and cheerily handed them back to him. As soon as she stood up again, she could observe the man's appearance in much more detail; his watery blue eyes seemed kind and gentle on the surface, but she could sense a whole life of turbulent emotions hidden behind them. His wispy white hair floated about his ears like an innocent cloud, however a slight gap at the hairline suggested it was most likely a wig. He wore round-rimmed glasses that were crooked in a comical manner, giving him an amusingly harmless exterior. After having stared at him for a good long few seconds, Martha realised she was beginning to look rude.

"Forgive me, I never asked your name!" She exclaimed in a friendly manner.

"Of course – I'm Professor Yana, I teach criminal psychology to students at the university a few streets away. I used to be a detective here, you see, many years ago. Before your time. I just popped in to check up on the place. I daresay it's far busier and more confusing nowadays. Anyhow, who might you be?" The professor spoke kindly, with the air of a generic elderly person reminiscing about their past.

"Sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I'm Martha Jones. I actually got a promotion, so I'm starting my new job as a Detective Sergeant today." She spoke with a combination of humbleness and politeness, the ideal mixture to bounce off the professor's personality.

"Oh, I'd best be off then! Good luck, Martha Jones. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again." Despite his gentle persona, Martha couldn't help noticing that Professor Yana's final words were tinged with an oddly sinister tone. Before she could reply, he smiled as if nothing was out of place and strode away, his back turned towards her, never looking back once. It was as if Martha had just spoken with a ghost. One minute, here; the next, gone.

Shaking her head slightly, as if shaking off the old man's presence, Martha then continued on her way, winding and weaving her way through the halls until she reached her boss' office. Knocking hesitantly on the door that was a tiny bit ajar, she awaited an encouragement to enter the room. She wasn't waiting long.

"Come in, Martha." A heavy yet somehow light-hearted voice called out to her.

Stepping in, Martha couldn't help but question her boss. "How did you know it was me?"

"By your footsteps, knock, gentle breathing, the height of your shadow on the glass of my door… I didn't spend over half my life training and being a detective for nothing, you know." The boss' name was engraved on a golden name plate upon her desk: Sarah Jane Smith. The woman herself had autumnal brown hair that swept over her shoulders – despite it generally being regulation to tie hair back, Ms Smith refused to, as a reflection of her stubborn attitude. Her face was benevolent and familial, although she had a few age lines appearing prematurely due to the stress of her job as a Detective Chief Inspector. She was in her late 40s to early 50s, and her superior (though not patronising in any way) demeanour suggested she was experienced and incredibly suited to her job as a leader.

Martha blushed a little in response to DCI Smith's intellectual statement. "Of course." She remarked quietly.

"Anyway, do take a seat. Actually, don't. I know you already know all the ins and outs of the job, and that you're more than qualified, so we might as well get down to business." As she spoke, DCI Smith rose from her seat behind her desk and strolled towards the door, gesturing for Martha to follow her. As the two colleagues began to walk in step down the corridor, DCI Smith continued to explain to situation. "So, I know your promotion is to be a Detective Sergeant, and that still is the case, however I've made the decision to pair you up with someone a bit more experienced. With your advanced skill, I do think it will be beneficial to you, as well as the department as a whole."

As her boss carried on speaking, Martha's trepidation and a hint of anxiety began blooming inside her, especially as she was now leading her into the elevator and pressing the button for the fourth floor, which was the department above her current one. When DCI Smith observed Martha's bordering on terrified expression when looking at the fourth floor button, she smiled reassuringly and explained.

"Ah yes – I did tell you in your interview that, as a Detective Sergeant, you'd remain on the third floor but gain more control over your department. Because of my decision, you're actually moving up to the fourth floor, however you won't have a great deal of control over the other colleagues because they're-"

"Detective Inspectors. The fourth floor is for Detective Inspectors. It's where your office is supposed to be, apart from there's no room up there." Martha finished, staring directly at her boss, who returned her gaze.

"Yes, that's right. Your new partner is a Detective Inspector, hence the 'more experienced' that I described him as." Just as DCI Smith finished her sentence, the lift doors pinged open to reveal a bustling floor. The boss immediately strode out of the elevator and towards their destination, whereas Martha struggled to keep up.

"But I'm not qualified enough! Am I even allowed to work with DI's?" She inquired, getting rather worked up now.

"It's not a common thing, though technically, yes you can. I'm taking advantage of this and making it happen. Like I said, it will be beneficial to you, and I know that, with your capabilities, you'll be able to keep up, no problem. Now, here we are." Before Martha could intervene with another anxiety-induced question, DCI Smith reached an office right at the end of the corridor and briefly knocked before entering without invitation.

"Here we go." She beckoned Martha to join her in the room. "Detective Sergeant Martha Jones, meet Detective Inspector John Smith, your new partner."

"Ah, Martha! Martha Jones… It's brilliant to meet you at last. Just brilliant! I've heard a lot about you – all good, of course. Seriously though, we'll have great fun working together! I can't wait- Oh, you should really stop me when I start babbling, I just don't stop! Anyway, how are you? Can I get you anything, tea, coffee, biscuits, water…? Gah, I love having a new partner, it's fantastic!"

"Uhh…" Martha honestly had no idea how to react to the bubbling ball of unadulterated positive energy in the form of a human being. When she was told she was getting a new partner that was a Detective Inspector, she imagined a grumpy, potentially misogynistic old man that would patronise her at any given opportunity, just for being younger, or female. The last thing she expected was a crazily optimistic man in his mid-30s, with adorable freckles and gravity-defying brown hair sticking up in all directions, who was currently grinning intensely at her. But she certainly wasn't complaining.

"Yeah, you'll get used to him after a day or two. His attitude is really quite contagious." DCI Smith muttered into Martha's ear, then smiled and turned to both her and John. "Right! I'll leave you two to it, then. I'm sure you'll get on great."

"Hang on, a-are you related? You know, same surname and all." Martha interjected with the only thing she could think of quickly enough so she wouldn't be left alone with John too early.

"Oh, yes, 'Smith' is a shared surname of ours. But no, no relation. If that's all…?" DCI Smith cleared things up.

"Yep, that's everything! I can't wait to get to know my new partner. Martha Jones. The excitement's unbearable!" John Smith replied to their boss before Martha could.

"Yeah…" Martha attempted enthusiasm, but it mostly came off as concern for her own sanity. She directed a final 'help me' glance at DCI Smith as she was leaving, but all she got in return was a thumbs up, as if to say 'good luck'. And boy, was she gonna need it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Right-o! Let's get started then, shall we?" John declared the second DCI Smith left the room, grinning excessively at Martha as he bounded across the room, flicking through files and paperwork at a hundred miles an hour. "I'm sure I can find us a case, they're all piling up in here like dust, it's a right mess. So, what do you fancy, eh? We have an attempted robbery across town, an assault in the town centre, a murder in the countryside – ooh, that sounds juicy. I love a good murder mystery, me. What about you? I bet you're like me. You'd be great at solving one too, I can tell you're clever. Not quite me clever, but clever all the same. No offence. I mean, not many people are as clever as me anyway, so it's not exactly an insult. Am I bragging again? Donna's always telling me off for that, it's one of my bad habits. Thing is, I don't tend to notice I'm doing it, so it's really-" John abruptly stopped in mid-sentence, awkwardly raising a hand to subconsciously scratch the back of his head. His bright brown eyes gazed concernedly at Martha, as if he were assessing her opinion of him. "Sorry. I'm just not that used to company, that's all."

"No, that's okay. It's refreshing, actually, finally meeting someone who… communicates. My last partner barely spoke at all – I was left to do most of the investigating on my own. His name was Tom, Tom Milligan. Nice enough, but a bit boring, you know." She suddenly laughed. "Now look who's babbling!" Martha looked down at the floor to conceal her blushing, but when her gaze returned to John's face, she noticed he was smiling at her in such a way that made her feel less stupid and more comfortable in his company. He then strolled across his office and stuck out a hand, offering it to Martha.

"John Smith. Nice to meet you, Martha Jones."

Martha hesitated at first, then shook his hand firmly, displaying a genuinely happy smile at John, which he returned equally. It was a moment in which the ice was truly broken; the two newfound colleagues stared and beamed at each other as if they were accepting each other's personalities and general selves, and understanding that they were going to get on great with one another. John had such an air about him that practically radiated metaphorical warmth and comfort which enveloped anyone in his presence – this caused Martha to instantly feel at ease rather than anxious or intimidated in her new job. Unfortunately, the moment only lasted a few seconds, so before she knew it, John had released her hand and stepped away.

Since she no longer felt nervous, Martha was now relaxed enough to blatantly observe John's office as well as his attire. The office was generic in terms of being medium-sized and square-shaped, however it was utterly personalised by John other than that. Not so much by posters and merchandise, or things like that, but by how it reflected John: it was completely disorganised, and the mess wasn't subtle, it was entirely in your face. Papers, files, plastic wallets, pens, pencils, paper clips, treasury tags – you name it, it's probably scattered over John's desk. In fact, his desk was so cluttered with items that the mahogany wood was fully concealed under it all. A small mesh rubbish bin that was situated next to the desk was overflowing with screwed-up balls of paper. Another table in the corner of the room was littered with empty coffee mugs, though a few had paper balls lodged in them, so had clearly been used for target practice during bouts of boredom. A giant board took up the space of the far wall, and was stereotypically full of images of crime scenes, victims and evidence, with pieces of string connecting the pictures and a few scrawled words here and there. Even John's handwriting was barely legible.

Although Martha had only just met John, so she shouldn't really try to interfere with his environment, she couldn't resist commenting, though she did so in the politest way possible. "John, have you ever considered maybe… I don't know… organising your office a bit? I mean, it looks fine, I'm just struggling to see how you could find anything in here."

"Oh, organised mess, Martha! Believe me, I know exactly where everything I need is in here. Well, almost everything. Well, a few things. Well, the point is, I can sort it out if you'd like me to…?"

"Oh no! No, you can leave it if you want. Don't go changing things on my accord." Martha forced out a smile as she averted her eyes from the mess before her OCD caused her to start tidying up. Instead, she concentrated on John, silently noting what he was wearing. This included a smart pinstripe suit (dark brown with thin blue stripes), a light blue shirt and a vaguely askew brown tie with blue swirls on it. When Martha looked down, she was surprised to see his shoes were simple white converse, slightly scuffed, that completely mismatched the rest of his outfit. Then again, she shouldn't have been too shocked – if his office, hair and personality was disorganised, it made sense that his clothes would be too. But instead of her pickiness setting in again, Martha actually found it quite quirky, in a cute way. The pure eccentricity of the man in front of her was something to be admired, not supressed.

"So! Martha…" John's upbeat tone broke her out of her reverie, and her gaze snapped upwards again. "Do you have family? You know, parents, siblings. Partner?" He acted nonchalant.

"What, you're seriously making small talk now? I thought you wanted to get on with work."

"Nah, that can wait. Getting to know you is my main priority right now." John smiled goofily. Martha would have taken his words for a bit of flirting, however she doubted he was the kind of person who did consciously flirt. Especially not after she'd only just met him.

"Well, er, I have a brother called Leo, and I live with my younger sister, Tish. My mum and dad are divorced. And no, I'm not in a relationship. What about you?" She replied innocently.

"Oh! Um, no. Don't really do relationships, me. As for family, my parents both passed away a long time ago now, and I was an only child." His oh-so-lively eyes glazed over with a layer of immeasurable melancholy as his unfocused stare grew distant.

Martha wasn't entirely sure how to react, but she spoke softly and succinctly. "I'm sorry."

John suddenly snapped back into reality, leaping up from his position of leaning on his desk. His tone lightened back up instantaneously, as did those wonderful eyes. "Don't apologise, Martha. There's no need to say sorry. You should never say sorry for something not under your control. Good thing to remember, that."

He patted her shoulder briefly before stepping around his desk yet again. Martha attempted a sympathetic smile, however John had turned away before he could see it. A few seconds later, John was back to flicking through files and re-starting the conversation.

"What's your favourite animal?" He asked Martha without looking up.

"Pardon?"

"Your favourite animal. What is it?" Glancing up, John gazed at his new partner expectantly.

"Er, why do you ask?"

"Well, I always think you can tell a lot about a person from their favourite animal. Sort of like a psychological thing, I suppose."

"All right then. I've never really thought about it before… I like cats?" Martha was a little flustered from being asked such a spontaneous and direct question, and then being told it was a way of assessing her psych.

"Cats. Hmm… I can work with that." John replied vaguely, adding to the enigma.

"What's yours?"

"Hm?"

"What's your favourite animal?"

"Oh! No one's ever asked me in return before." He remained deep in thought for a short while, as if he was considering an extremely important question. "I like narwhals!" John then declared, content with his answer.

"Why?"

"I dunno, I've always found them funny." John grinned, and Martha found it so dorky of him that she couldn't resist giggling. He then changed the subject after smiling adoringly at her laughter. "I know why you're a brilliant detective."

"You don't know that I am, we've only just met." She fumbled, her humbleness taking over.

"Well, I've heard enough about you. And I'm an excellent judge of character, if you don't mind me saying – I could tell you were clever the second we were formally introduced. But it's mainly the fact that you ask 'why?' all the time. All that curiosity, a mind desperate for answers and intelligent enough to discover them…" He left the sentence hanging, his eyes fiercely burning with intensity as he stared right at Martha. Shuffling uncomfortably under his scrutiny, she struggled for a response.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say: curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back." John was on the ball with his comebacks since he completed the well-known proverb immediately. The two of them then proceeded with a silent and intense staring contest; John refused to look away because he was enjoying observing Martha, and Martha simply couldn't look away due to her being frozen, like a deer in the headlights. However, before it could continue for much longer, another Detective Inspector popped his head around the office door, which was still shamelessly open. John never tended to close it since he claimed he had 'nothing to hide', giving yet another insight into his personality. The interruption caused John and Martha to break eye contact at the exact same moment, instead allowing their gaze to flit to the door or, to be more specific, the young man with a seemingly ageless face who looked slightly awkward to be intruding.

"Oh 'ello, Tim!" John was the first to greet him, oblivious to his nervous attitude as he gave him a warm welcome. "Come on in, make yourself at home! Would you like anything? Tea, coffee?" He managed not to babble quite as much as usual, probably since he'd now grown accustomed to Martha's company, which settled him.

"Oh, er, no thank you, it's just a quick visit." 'Tim', as John referred to him, stepped into the room. He clearly felt a little unnerved being the centre of attention, but John had the tendency of making people feel like that when he spoke to them – he made people important just by acknowledging them.

"Hang on, you won't have met Martha yet. Tim, this is DS Martha Jones, my new partner. Martha, this is DI Tim Latimer, I've worked a couple of cases with him. Great man, this one." As John introduced him, Tim smiled timidly at Martha as she nodded at him in greeting.

"Like I said, I can't stay long…" Tim was evidently aware of John's babbling and astounding capability to make easy but drawn-out conversation.

"Of course, of course. What was it you were after?"

"DCI Smith sent me to you with a case she's picked up on, so I brought the file for you to look through." John gladly accepted the file and skim-read it as Tim patiently waited by him.

"What is it?" Martha inquired, peeping over John's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the case.

"Man found dead in a lake, suspected drowning but under suspicious circumstances. Oh, that woman knows me well!" Grinning inappropriately (given the case), John handed Martha the file to look at as he stood up tall, directing his gratitude towards Tim.

"So, will you take it, sir?" Although it was fairly obvious what the answer would be, Tim asked nonetheless.

"Oh yes! This is brilliant!" Turning to Martha, John saw she'd finished skimming over the case and her eyebrows were raised in piqued interest. "Come on, Martha – the first case of Smith and Jones. Has quite a ring to it, don't you think?"

"Certainly, Mr Smith." Martha couldn't resist beaming. Sarah Jane Smith had been right – John's attitude was contagious, but in the best possible way.

"Well, Miss Jones, what are we waiting for?" Grabbing his impressively long, light brown trench coat and shrugging it on, John led the way out of his office, receiving the file back from Martha. "Allons-y!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Allons-y? What was that all about?" Martha questioned her partner as they took the elevator back down to the ground floor, on their journey to the crime scene.

John glanced at her, looking slightly offended. "Means 'let's go'. It's a French saying – mind you, I probably say it more than the French." At that point, the lift dinged and the smooth metal doors slid open, signalling their arrival. Grinning, John stepped out. "Right then! On our way."

John Smith strolled through reception and out into the car park of the police offices at an impossibly attainable pace, so that his new partner desperately struggled to keep up with him. His tan brown trench coat billowing out behind him, John abruptly stopped, his intense gaze sweeping over the many cars lined up in the vicinity. Because he had finally ceased his quick steps, Martha managed to catch up with him, and she followed his line of sight without questioning what he was searching for. Fortunately, he told her without having to be asked.

"My car – I'm sure I parked it near here. It can't be far away… Aha! There you are, you beauty."

Sighing, Martha set off once again after John, who was now dashing towards a small blue car. The sunlight reflected off its shiny sapphire exterior, giving the impression that the vehicle was smiling back at its owner, that it was happy to see him, somehow.

"So, what do you think?" Tapping the roof of the car proudly with one hand as he shoved his other hand into his trouser pocket, John gazed expectantly at Martha.

The detective sergeant gawped at the vehicle for a few moments as she wracked her brain for something to say about it. "It's… a Mini Cooper." She internally cringed the second the words left her mouth.

"Yes…" John's expression fell a little; it was obvious he'd hoped Martha would be a little more enthusiastic about his pride and joy.

Martha jumped to add to her embarrassing previous observation, though she still couldn't think of something entirely positive. "Isn't it a bit small?"

"It's bigger on the inside, believe me." John countered, winking at his partner. He then opened the passenger door for Martha, gesturing for her to get in, before leaping to the other side so he could get in the driver's seat.

The interior of the car wasn't a great deal bigger than John had claimed, though it was a little spacey. The only problem was, you couldn't see any of the actual car, because it was so cluttered. Arbitrary gadgets of some kind were littered across the seats and floor, taking up every bit of space. When Martha turned around to look in the back, she saw herself reflected in a mirror that was connected to some sort of backpack – her mouth was open in shock and her brow was furrowed in confusion. Where there were no odd gadgets, clothes filled up the room. Garish suits, strange hats, flamboyant ties; it was like the inside of a fancy dress shop. Martha had seen such a mess, other than John's office. In conclusion, John was the untidiest person she'd ever met.

"Okay, let's get going, shall we? Oh, sorry about the mess, I don't really have an excuse for that…" John scratched his head, like he did when he was nervous about someone's opinion of him.

"It's um…" Martha was about to say 'it's okay', but she was reluctant to lie to him – it did bother her a bit. "So, do you fancy yourself as a bit of a mechanic? Or an inventor?"

"Yeah, something like that. Always trying to be creative, me." John answered vaguely, then figured he might as well explain. He reached into the back and picked up a thin, screwdriver-type thing. "This is my sonic-y device, my proudest invention. Look-"

He aimed the gadget at a padlock he also picked up from the floor and pressed a button on it. The lock whirred for a moment, then popped open. John gave Martha a toothy grin, which she returned.

"That's brilliant! How does it work?" She inquired.

"Kind of like a snap gun, but without the lock pick rods. It emits an extremely high frequency, above human hearing, causing the pins in the key to vibrate and click out of place. Then, pop! The lock opens. Good, isn't it?" John explained intelligently, pleased that Martha was impressed. Much to her surprise, he recklessly threw the device over his shoulder so it landed in the back. "I tend not to take it out with me, I get some funny looks. And it's probably illegal."

"You could make a lot of money with that." Martha pointed out.

"Well, I'm not interested in that. I just like making things. Physics is my hobby, always has been. Everyone needs a hobby."

"I think you're a genius." Martha commented truthfully, blushing a little after she spoke. In order to avoid embarrassment, she gestured to the mirror gadget she'd looked at earlier. "What's that, then?"

"Oh, it's work in progress, that one. Never can seem to get it to work. Haven't thought of a name yet, either." Although John was very cheerful about the fact that Martha was taking an interest in his hobby, he was also eager to get back to work, since he'd gotten too side tracked for his liking. "Anyway! Sorry, I'm distracting us both. Where were we? Crime scene, yes! We should go."

"Of course." Martha agreed, smiling shyly.

As the engine sputtered into life and John put the car in gear, he turned and beamed at his new partner joyfully. He knew she would make a great friend as well as a work colleague.

After a mere five minutes of being on the road, Martha was almost scared stiff. She clung to the foldaway handle above the side window with one hand for dear life and gripped the side of her seat with her other hand, equally as tight. Despite these safety precautions, she was still thrown around the car like pennies in a poor person's purse. And it was all because of her partner's terrible driving.

Meanwhile, John yelled as if he were having the time of his life, leaning forward eagerly as he grabbed the steering wheel tightly. It was fine for him, he clearly enjoyed driving in the most dangerous way possible. He was certainly speeding, only just managing to dodge around cars as he overtook them endless times, and his steering was horrendous.

It wasn't long before Martha had to verbally intervene. She had to yell over the roaring wind and the rattling engine. "Do you actually have a license?"

"I think so!" John shouted back, grinning the widest and craziest grin Martha had ever seen.

Since he was showing no sign of slowing down in the slightest, Martha simply squeezed her eyes shut and continued holding on until the end of the journey. Eventually, they pulled up on a dirt track just by a perturbingly quiet lake in the countryside just outside of London. Martha let out an incredibly long breath since she'd been holding it in for practically the entire time. _Thank God that's over_ , she thought, making a mental note to insist on driving the way back.

"Ha! Wasn't that fantastic? I love driving!" John commented, laughing elatedly. Martha just stared at him as if he'd grown another head, however he mistook her expression for impatience about getting to work. "Oh right yeah, you probably want to get on with the case. Come on, then."

Tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, Martha took a deep breath and exited the vehicle at the same time as John. The detective inspector strode towards the crime scene first, his hands stuck in his trouser pockets again. He seemed oddly nonchalant as he ambled up to the officer (he was a stocky fellow in his late forties) already at the scene.

"Right. Murder. Good." The officer shot John a disapproving glance as he spoke, making him realise his phrasing was inappropriate. "I mean bad, but whose is it?"

"His name was Caan Eldak, a 26 year old supply teacher from East London. He owned that lakeside cabin over there" – the officer pointed across the water – "and he travelled here three days ago to stay here on a break from work."

"How do you know?"

"Family told us – his mother just arrived, she's in the cabin."

"Okay, I'll speak to her later. Any witnesses?"

"None, unfortunately."

"Time of death?"

"Forensics are saying around half three this morning."

"Where's the body?"

"A few metres behind my car, over there. The forensics team are still working though."

"I'll be sure to speak to them. Thank you very much, officer." John smiled appreciatively, patting the police officer on the shoulder briefly before heading for the body, Martha rapidly following suit.

When they reached the more significant part of the crime scene, John spoke to forensics while Martha studied the body.

"'Ello! I'm DI John Smith, nice to meet you." He went to shake the woman's hand, but stopped when he realised she was wearing blood-covered latex gloves. "Not the best place to meet, I suppose, but still. Must always give a good first impression, it's important, don't you think? Anyway, sorry, crime scene! What are the details of Mr Eldak's death?"

The forensics examiner peeled off her gloved as she replied. "Well, the cause of death was certainly drowning, although there are signs of bruising around the neck and wrists from shortly before death, so we know someone else must have been involved. That's pretty much all we've got. Oh, actually, we did find a mobile phone on the victim. It was obviously unusable due to water damage, but we sent it off to the tech lab earlier. They'll scan the device, read the calls and texts and, with any luck, we'll have ourselves a potential suspect and motive."

"Good work! Has any CCTV footage been found, do you know?"

"No, there's no surveillance around here. However, someone who could have been heading this way got caught by a speed camera a few miles away. I believe Officer Cooper has more details about that."

"Brilliant. You always do great work here anyway, but I really do admire you." John gave the woman a genuine smile as he walked back over to Martha. "Okay, you can speak to the officer about the car that was caught speeding, and I'll go talk to the mother. See you soon." Before Martha could protest (which she wouldn't have anyway), he had vanished into the cabin.

Let's be honest, whenever someone is murdered, the family and friends are the real victims, therefore they are in need of the most comfort. This is the reason why John softened his voice when he introduced himself to the victim's mother. "Hello. Are you Mrs Eldak?"

The distraught woman was probably in her mid-fifties, however the recent trauma and pain she'd been forced to deal with had aged her. She was wearing a nurses uniform with an identity badge, inferring that she'd received the news about her son while she was at work, and she'd rushed to the crime scene immediately, without bothering to change. The scrunched-up tissue in her hand was completely saturated with tears and her face was flushed red from crying. Aside from all this, the aspect that haunted John the most was her eyes: they were utterly hollow, as if the death of her son had ripped out her soul as well as her heart. Even though John had seen the exact same look many times, in all the families and friends he had to interview, it never ceased to disturb him to his very core.

"Yes, I am." Mrs Eldak finally replied, blinking back tears as she faced the distress of speaking to yet another policeman about her dead son.

"I'm Detective Inspector John Smith, and I give my deepest condolences." He spoke sincerely, staring right into her eyes.

"I appreciate that." She replied, attempting a smile, but it only ended up a shadow of any previous happiness she once experienced in her life.

"I'm very sorry, but I have to ask you a few questions. It won't take long, I promise."

"That's okay."

"Thank you." John made sure to show his gratitude and sympathy before proceeding. "How was your son in the weeks before he died? Was he happy? Had he gone through any tough times, for example breaking up with a partner, or losing friends?"

"No, nothing like that. He was very happy, he had a nice house, a beautiful girlfriend, a good job…" Mrs Eldak had to pause after she finished. Simply talking about how great her son's life was had stimulated another wave of tears.

"It's okay, just a couple more questions, Mrs Eldak. Did your son get on with everyone? Did he have any enemies?"

"No, no, everyone loved him. He had a great circle of friends who all admired him, he loved his brother. If they ever fought, it was only pretend."

"Okay. This last question is the most difficult, but there won't be any more after it, so please try and answer as honestly as you can. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt your son?"

Mrs Eldak hesitated, collecting herself before she answered. "Unless it was jealousy, then no. Everyone loved him." She repeated.

"Thank you so much, Mrs Eldak, you've been very helpful." John then clutched the woman's hand and lowered his voice, surprising her a little. "Right now, it's going to feel like the world is ending for you, like you'll never be happy again. But it's not. Trust me. It will get better, but you've got to be strong. Be strong for your family, and your son. You can do it." He gazed deep into her eyes for a few long moments while she stared back sadly, then squeezed her hand and walked away, closing the cabin door gently on his way out.

At that moment, Martha was just finishing up speaking with Officer Cooper. "Are we done here?" She asked.

"Yep. Back to the office it is." John smiled, letting his melancholy slip away so it seemed it was never there to start with. He gained a mask of happiness with the hastiness of one who had been forced to fake it too many times before.


	4. Chapter 4

Martha made absolutely certain that she drove back to the police headquarters, due to her still-lingering trauma following the journey to the crime scene. She manoeuvred the small blue Mini through the streets and traffic with careful precision, never once taking her eyes off the road. The atmosphere in the vehicle was almost worryingly quiet, and Martha was concerned that it was her fault for concentrating on driving so intensely. After all, it wasn't like John to remain silent for longer than a minute, even if she had only known him for half a day.

It wasn't until they'd pulled into the car park of their offices, and John still hadn't uttered a single word or moved an inch that Martha was unable to stand it any longer. When she spoke up at last, her voice was hesitant yet assertive. "John… Are you okay?"

For around another twenty seconds, John neglected to answer, instead gazing out of the side window with his chin in his hand. His deep brown eyes were incredibly astute and his brow furrowed – it was evident he was pondering something profoundly, so lost to his surroundings was he. John didn't even spare his partner a glance.

Refusing to let it go, Martha spoke again, her voice raised slightly this time. "John?"

The detective inspector appeared to be startled, as if he hadn't heard Martha the first time she addressed him; his body twitched and he emitted a sharp intake of breath, like he was abruptly being woken from a deep slumber. John's gaze darted around confusedly for a little while, then eventually settled on Martha and softened.

"I'm sorry, did I do it again?"

"Do…what?" Now it was Martha's turn to be puzzled.

"You see, sometimes when I'm thinking too deeply about a case, I tend to drift off. I often forget where I am and who I'm with. It's really quite rude of me, I am sorry. It's only a recent thing, actually." For the briefest of moments, John's eyes glazed over in a distanced manner, but before Martha could ask if he was alright again, it was over. He was back to his smiling self. "So! We're back at the office, yes?"

"That's right."

"What's the plan, then?"

John's unexpected question threw Martha. "Well, I-I just sort of assumed you'd be telling me what to do…"

"Why?" Her partner seemed genuinely curious.

"Because you're a higher rank than me, and-"

"Oh, Martha. Martha Jones." John seemed upset, his eyes taking on a sense of melancholy. "Don't ever think you're less than someone because of what rank you are. That's nonsense! You are every bit as important as I am, if not more. Now tell me, what's your plan?"

Blinking away a minor tear that had sprung up in her eye thanks to John's kind words, Martha thought for a minute. "I know what I'd do, but I don't know if you work that way."

"Martha." John was serious, completely invested in his partner's unspoken plan. "Tell me what you'd do."

Although she started off slowly and timidly, Martha soon grew into her own as she laid out her ideas. "I'd check and see if the call and text records from the victim's mobile have been salvaged yet, which it's likely they have. If there were any dodgy messages, I'd track down the person using the GPS from their phone number and interview them, possibly bring them in for questioning. If not, I'd-"

"Blimey, I don't even think that far ahead! You are brilliant, Martha Jones. Never believe anyone who says otherwise." John enthused once again, grinning as he yanked open the car door on his side. "Off we go, then!"

Once again, Martha struggled to keep up with her new partner as he took impressively long strides on his way back to his office; luckily, she knew where they were headed this time. As they entered the double doors into the foyer of the building, one after the other, John halted his walking without warning, causing Martha to bump into him, much to her embarrassment. She coughed awkwardly and tugged at her suit jacket in order to straighten it, then glanced up at John's face to see what he'd stopped for.

"Donna! How's the job going?" He looked delighted to see the red-haired woman who was seated behind the desk at reception, sipping a cup of coffee and tapping letters in front of a computer screen. However, she didn't seem as pleased seeing him.

"Oh, well thanks for popping by, Martian. You didn't even bring me coffee this morning!" Her tone was sarcastic and hostile, although Martha could tell by looking in her glittering eyes that she was actually glad to be having a conversation with John, especially by her use of a pet name.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Been a bit busy." John remained nonchalant.

"Aren't you always? The job's going great anyway, thanks for asking."

"You're welcome. You're also welcome for me getting you the job in the first place."

"Oh, don't give me that, sunshine! I could have got this job by myself, _you_ just insisted on butting in, as usual."

"Ah, but you wouldn't have it any other way."

After smirking at Donna in a vaguely cheeky manner, John finally turned to Martha. "Oh! Sorry, I'm being rude again. Donna, this is Martha, my new partner. She's a detective sergeant, and very good at it, might I add."

"Nice to meet you, Martha. He hasn't scared you off yet, then?" Donna smiled warmly at Martha, who appreciated her joking attitude. It made her feel instantly comfortable in her company.

Due to the slight banter and being content in one another's company, Martha assumed something blatant about John and Donna, and since she hadn't been told who exactly Donna was, she was forced to ask. "So, are you two… together? Or just friends?"

The reaction was immediate.

"Oh no, no, no. No, we're not- No, not like that. Definitely not. No." John jumped in to speak first, babbling on as he frowned at his partner.

Meanwhile, Donna just laughed, but denied the accusation equally as strong. "Me and him? He wishes! But no, we're just friends. And cousins, actually. Very distant cousins, but cousins all the same. Even though he likes to deny it – ain't that right, Martian?"

"What? Hmm." Was all John could muster up as a reply, still in shock that anyone would think he and Donna were romantically involved.

"Right. Sorry. We'd, er, well we'd better be off now. Crime to solve and all that. It really was nice meeting you though, Donna. See you again soon, yeah?" Martha could sense everyone felt uncomfortable now, so she decided to make tracks as quickly as possible.

"'Course. I'll just be here, being the glamorous secretary as always. Bye!" Donna returned to tapping away at her computer keyboard after smiling at Martha and nodding at John, who gauchely waved back.

As the two detectives scurried away and into the elevator, John turned to Martha, not entirely harshly, but with a bit of an interrogating attitude.

"Why did you think we were… you know?"

"A couple?"

"That. Whatever. Yes." John shifted his feet, avoiding Martha's gaze.

"You just sort of… Looked like you fit together. I don't know?" Her last statement of uncertainty turned out as a question.

"But I told you this morning that I'm not _with_ anyone. Didn't you believe me?"

"Yes! Well, kind of. People do lie."

"Maybe, but not me."

"Maybe you're just weird, Martian." Martha retorted, using Donna's nickname for him to add insult to injury.

"No, no. Don't, don't do that." John appeared humiliated on behalf of both of them. Martha raised an eyebrow, prompting an explanation. Sighing, John eventually gave in. "Look, Donna's called me 'Martian' ever since we were kids. She thought I was so weird – because I like inventing things and doing homework and blabbering on a lot. So, the only explanation she could think of was that I must be from Mars. Don't you dare start calling me it too."

"Fair enough." Martha laughed, and John smiled, still vaguely embarrassed but amused nonetheless.

Martha changed the subject again. "You don't seem very aware of relationship stuff. Has there ever been anyone in your life? One person you loved, or even just had a crush on?"

"There was someone once. Sometimes it feels like it was a long time ago, sometimes it feels like two minutes." John's eyes glazed over once again as he trailed off, making Martha feel as if she shouldn't have been so persistent in asking such a personal question. She remained silent until he snapped back to reality. "Either way, it's in the past now. It's not like I can go back in time and change what happened."

"What did happen?" Martha was well aware that her curiosity was dangerous, and potentially destructive to her friendship (and work relationship) with John, but she couldn't help herself.

John smiled at her, an irrevocably sad smile that contrasted so horribly with his usual cheerful self. Then, the lift dinged and the moment was over. He stepped out first and reverted back to non-stop chattering, half to himself, half to Martha.

"Right! Checking the phone records it is. I always thought mobile phones were a way of catching people out. That's why I don't often use one myself. It's strange how people lay their hearts – not just their hearts, their whole minds, their whole _lives_ , in fact – on the line by being completely reliant on silly little devices that the government and police keep track of. The world's gone mad! Well, if you ask most people, they'd say it's just part of life. Well, maybe not. Well, everyone has different opinions, I suppose. Anyway! Phone records, phone records… I believe Larry's got it covered – Larry Nightingale!" As John finished his whole nonsensical speech, he ended up in the main fourth floor computer office, run by the technical expert, Larry Nightingale. The young man looked up in surprise as John bounded into the room, chock-full of energy.

"Good afternoon, DI Smith. What do you need?"

"Please, call me John. I hate 'DI Smith', it's far too formal, even though it's expected of me. Right, Larry, I'm after phone records of a Mr Caan Eldak, the 26 year old who died in the drowning accident in the early hours this morning…"

"Of course, I've got them right here." Larry clicked a few buttons and brought up a screen that contained his last 50 phone calls and 100 text messages. "You can listen to the calls by clicking on any of the ones listed, and the texts are all here."

"You are a genius, Larry! Thank you so much." John grinned, leaning closer to the monitor screen and extracting a pair of black, plastic-rimmed glasses to read the texts, which he pushed onto his nose. He stepped back and removed the spectacles after what must have only been a minute. "Nothing out of the ordinary there. Let's check the phone calls, shall we?"

After listening to 50 phone calls, John and Martha still hadn't discovered anything threatening, only familial conversations or checking in with friends.

"Bit of a waste of time. What's next? You look like you know something." Martha addressed her partner, studying his expression intently.

"Oh, nothing's ever a waste of time, Martha. But I suppose you're right in a sense – there wasn't anything obviously worrying. As for next…" His expression growing excited, John dashed out of the room again, clearly formulating something in his mind.

"Er, cheers, Larry." Martha thanked the techie, who smiled in return, before hurrying after her partner. Fortunately for her, John hadn't gone off anywhere that she couldn't find him. He was just pacing up and down the corridor outside, deep in thought.

"Mrs Eldak, she claimed everyone loved him, adored him so much. No enemies… He had a girlfriend, she seems genuine from the text messages, his friends are just ordinary friends, his brother – Hang on a minute. His mother, she said… Oh, what did she say? He loved his brother. _He_ loved his brother. That's it!" The detective inspector yelled triumphantly, then twirled around on his heel to face Martha as she came into view. "As you told me, the speeding car located last night near the crime scene was unidentifiable."

"Yes, they ran the registration plate through data records but the car didn't officially belong to anyone. It was brand new, hadn't been sold yet." Martha added, her tone suspicious as she attempted to understand what exactly John was getting at. She had no such luck.

"Yes, good. Great, even. No, brilliant!" John clapped his hands together, overwhelmed with eagerness and anticipation. "Come on, Martha. I think I just solved us a crime."


	5. Chapter 5

Beaming at Martha as if it were Christmas day, John headed back into the lift and pressed the button for ground floor at least ten times in his fervour. Martha took the opportunity of them having to stand still for a minute by questioning John.

"You think you've solved it? Why, what are you thinking?" She was also excited, however that was diluted slightly by her bewilderment and lack of knowledge.

John began to mutter seemingly arbitrary phrases concerning the crime. "Right, Mrs Eldak, what she said, then the brother, and the car… Don't you see? It all adds up!" He yelled suddenly, startling Martha.

"Um, no? If you'd explain, that would help…" She pointed out, but her partner ignored her.

"You said the car was brand new, hadn't been sold. And the brother of the victim, if I remember rightly from reading the file, the brother was the owner of a car company that recently went bust because of them investing elsewhere… In other news, Mrs Eldak – when she was telling me about her son, she said everyone adored him and such forth, but when she mentioned his brother, she specifically said 'he loved his brother'. Not, 'his brother loved him'. Inferring that Caan cared about his brother, but not vice versa. If I'm correct, the brother must have spared money from his own company to fund something Caan was doing, because he's a relative so naturally he'd help him out-"

"Oh! When I spoke to Officer Cooper, he said Caan had just set up a massive charity involved with the school he often taught at. Could that have been what the brother was funding?" Martha interrupted, but for good reason.

"Yes! That's exactly it! You are brilliant, Martha Jones." John grinned at her for a moment while she blushed, then dived back into his speculations. "So the brother invested in the charity Caan was setting up, but Caan didn't pay him back, and due to that and the recession, the brother's car company went bankrupt. Perhaps there had always been tension between the two of them, which the brother hoped to resolve by helping him out, but the way it got thrown back in his face made him angry, angrier that he'd ever been with Caan before. Angry enough to make him do something he'd regret…" John's tone grew dark and intense, then the lift dinged once again, dissipating the abruptly sincere atmosphere. Continuing in a significantly lighter tone, John dragged a hand through his almost physics-defying hair. "Anyway, I'm just thinking out loud here, I could actually be horribly wrong."

"Yeah, I somehow doubt that." Martha commented, smiling up at him as they strode out of the elevator together. In response, John simply smiled humbly at her. "So, what's our next move?" She then asked innocently.

"I'd say we might as well get right to it and-" John stopped himself, hesitating for a moment before swivelling around on his heel to face Martha again (he'd subconsciously begun to lead the way as he usually did). "Actually, why don't you tell me? I don't want to steal all the limelight, and I'm always interested in what you have to say. It's your first day on the job, not mine. You deserve a chance to shine, Martha Jones."

Shifting uncomfortably due to the excessive flattery and respect on her partner's behalf, Martha then panicked a little thanks to the feeling of being put on the spot. "Okay… Er, well, there could – I mean, we could-"

She stopped herself before digging an irrevocable hole of self-humiliation, instead taking a moment to compose herself. John remained patient, studying her face intently for signs of discomfort so he could help her if necessary. Before long, Martha continued with a significantly higher degree of confidence this time.

"If you have good reason to believe that the brother is the main suspect here, we should get a search warrant for his home address and use that opportunity to gain more evidence against him. That's generally the next step, right?"

"Definitely. See? I knew you were good. Next stop, applying for a search warrant!" John declared victoriously, if a little immaturely. Martha glanced around self-consciously, expecting the people who worked in the police department on ground floor to all be turning round and staring at John for his eccentric behaviour, but they remained fixated on their work, oddly enough.

When John observed Martha's confusion at this, he explained. "Ah, this lot are all used to me by now. Barely bat an eyelid at me. Look-" At this point, he began to make incredibly obvious star-jumps in front of everyone, but they still refused to look up. "It's quite funny, really. I could get away with murder, in theory."

Martha couldn't resist giggling at John's evidently intended pun, and he made an adorable smile in return – one where his tongue touched the top of his mouth and his lips parted slightly as well as his eyebrows being raised. Martha soon became aware of their slipping professionalism, therefore scrambled to rectify it.

"So," She began, clearing her throat to make a show of her sincerity. "What reasoning can you tell the magistrate so we can actually get a warrant? You told me it was all speculation, but unfortunately that's never good enough for one."

The renewed seriousness of the conversation immediately became contagious, causing John to furrow his brow and make his tone adopt a stern edge. "Ah, yes, of course. My thoughts can't be proven to be true. Well, they can through a lie detector. Well, maybe. Well, if I believe them to be true, then the lie detector won't detect them as a lie…"

John trailed off as he noticed his partner's disapproving expression and realised he was going off on an extremely irrelevant tangent. "Sorry, I tend to do that a lot. Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah – well, I figured it out partly because you said the car caught on CCTV hadn't been sold yet, it wasn't registered. And Caan's brother owns a business selling new cars. So, by putting two and two together, we naturally get four, aka the brother used one of his business' cars to drive to Caan's lakeside cabin to kill him so it wouldn't register and he wouldn't be found out as the owner of the car. Makes sense to me."

"And me. I'm sure it'll be good enough for the magistrate. Let's go." Martha remarked, allowing John to lead the way to the magistrate's court. Thankfully, the magistrate was a sweet old lady who took a shine to John; he barely even had to explain his justification since she practically handed the search warrant to him on a silver plate accompanied by that specific type of old people smile. After that, the pair of detectives returned to police headquarters to pick up equipment such as evidence bags, latex gloves and handcuffs (in case arrest of the suspect was completely undisputed, which seemed likely at this point). Martha hurriedly nipped into her old office to retrieve her hand gun just as John dashed down the steps to meet her with the case file in his hands.

"Ah, there you a-" He abruptly ceased speaking, his excited grin dropping to be replaced by a critical frown. "Why have you got a gun? You're not bringing it, are you?"

"Well, yeah. Safety precaution and all, you know suspects can turn nasty if they're being arrested. Are you not bringing one?" Now Martha was confused.

"Of course not!" John stated it like it was an obvious fact. "I despise guns, or weapons of any sorts. They only serve to promote violence rather than reduce it. America's a perfect example of that. Guns are completely unnecessary, and they cause far too much damage. Don't you see?" John's expression and tone suddenly grew so very sad that Martha almost felt guilty, even though she was only in possession of an object that was a part of her job.

"I suppose. I never really thought about it that way before. It's just part of the work now." Although Martha's tone now imitated her partners', she was slightly irritated that John was causing her to re-assess her life choices and feel apologetic for something she had no reason to be sorry for.

"Never mind. What matters right now is that we follow this search warrant through. Are you with me?" John lightened the atmosphere due to their controversial conversation up a bit, restoring both of their excitable attitudes.

"Ready when you are." Martha smiled as John headed in the direction of the steps. "Wait, where are you going?" She yelled after him.

"I'm bored of the lift – stairs are much more interesting!" He shouted in reply, not looking back once as he reached the first step.

Martha sighed, then grinned as she thought of a way to get him back. "I'll race you to the ground floor then!" She cried, striding over to the lift and pressing the button impatiently.

"Ha!" John's voice echoed off the walls of the stairwell; he was clearly determined to win as well as revel in the enjoyment of their childish antics.

The lift appeared to descend far slower than usual, probably due to Martha's surging adrenaline, however the doors slid open to reveal the ground floor at the exact moment that John's foot touched the final step.

"That was perfect timing!" Martha exclaimed as John almost bumped into her, breathing heavily from his burst of physical activity.

"A well-deserved draw. I'll beat you next time though." He gloated, still beaming at her.

"Sure you will."

"Right, we'd best get on. Allons-y!" John proclaimed his famous catchphrase as he picked up the pace once again, preparing to sprint through the door and car park.

Still chuckling to herself, Martha was stopped in her tracks as she spotted Donna glaring at her from behind her desk at reception.

"I know you like him. I've seen that look before, on a few different people who work with him." Donna commented drily.

Neglecting to pick up on her vaguely dark tone, Martha replied cheerily to Donna. "Working with John… It's so exciting, so much fun! I can't imagine ever getting bored of it."

"Well I wouldn't get too close if I were you." Donna's sinister words finally wiped the grin off Martha's face.

"Are you… threatening me?" This was the instant assumption Martha made from Donna's words and the way she was staring at her.

"Oh no, I didn't mean it like that." Donna then livened up, smiling at the detective sergeant. "I'm just saying, you know? Thing is, there was this girl. A long time ago now, mind you. But still – her and John were very close, closer than I'd seen him work with anyone before. Then he lost her, and it took him ages to recover. I don't think he can ever be like that with anyone again. So, be careful, okay? I just don't want you to get hurt." The receptionist's voice grew very soft and concerned, her eyes staring deep into Martha's.

"Oh… Listen, I'd better be off. Duty calls, and all that. I'll, er, I'll see you around." Unable to respond properly to Donna's words, Martha simply made an excuse to leave and hastily jogged out of the building before any more words could be exchanged between them. As soon as she got outside, she stood still and mentally reiterated what Donna had just told her until it started to register. Before she could spend too much time dwelling on it, John pulled up in front of her in his little blue car and wound his window down.

"Oi, Martha! You coming?" He yelled, gesturing for her to hop in the passenger seat, which she soon did. He rapidly continued speaking while she got in. "Oh, this is brilliant! Your first day on this job, we've made great friends, _and_ managed to solve a murder. Well, almost. Aren't you just over the moon?" John enthused, practically bursting with eagerness as he began the relatively short drive to Gray Eldak's house.

"Yeah, it's great." Martha replied, unable to resist beaming back at him. Donna's words were soon forgotten as she once again got wrapped up in John's thrilled ramblings on the journey to their first potential joint arrest. This delight lasted right up until they arrived at the brother's house.

John spoke loud and clear while knocking on Gray's front door. "Hello? Mr Eldak? I'm Detective Inspector John Smith, I've just come to ask you a few questions regarding your brother's death. It's nothing serious, I'm alone so you've nothing to worry about."

"What did you say that for? You're lying to him." Martha whispered to John after hearing his untrue words.

Rolling his eyes a little, John answered his partner nonetheless. "I'm not exactly going to say, 'hi, I'm a cop who's come to snoop around your place so we can probably arrest you, also I'm with another cop who's armed and will shoot you if you do anything remotely dodgy', am I? He's less likely to run if he doesn't feel as threatened."

"Good point. But I only shoot if absolutely necessary, not just for the fun of it!" Martha was affronted by John's description of how she would use her weapon irresponsibly.

"Okay, I'm sorry." John apologised reluctantly, naturally still bitter about the fact that Martha brought a weapon with her in the first place. He then continued to call out to the suspect. "Mr Eldak? This won't take long, but I need you to open the door. Mr Eldak?"

It was at this point when John glanced at Martha, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. Martha mirrored this puzzled expression, but came up with a possible explanation. "Perhaps he's not in?"

John lowered his voice as he replied to Martha. "He's in mourning, or covering up his crime. Plus he'll have many visitors and sympathy phone calls, so of course he'd be in." He then raised his voice again to address Gray. "Okay, Mr Eldak, if you don't open this door, I'm afraid I'll have to open it myself. You've got ten seconds. Ten… nine… eight…"

"Open it yourself? Come on, you don't exactly have a key." Martha mocked John's choice of wording.

"Six… five… Actually when I said that, I kind of meant I was hoping you'd kick the door down for me. Three… two…"

Martha shrugged. "You only had to ask."

"One. Okay, Mr Eldak, I'm coming in!" John finished his countdown and signalled for Martha to do what she had to do.

Stepping back, Martha made John clear the way by moving to the side while she raised her leg and gave a concise, forceful kick to the centre of the door, causing it to fly open violently. The first visual impression was that the house was utterly cluttered with mess – papers littered the floor, mostly consisting of opened envelopes and unpaid bills or threatening eviction letters. The first impression of how the place smelled was incredibly shocking. It was a metallic, pungent scent that was entirely repulsive, causing both John and Martha to cover their noses with their sleeves instantaneously and screw their faces up in disgust. It also caused Martha to draw out her gun from the holster at her hip, even though John insisted he walk ahead despite the potential danger. When the two of them entered the living room, where the odour was at its peak, they were met with an equally shocking and awful sight.

Gray Eldak was dead.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Dramatic cliffhanger, I know! I hope you'll all enjoying this fic so far - there's much more to come yet. I'm sorry I haven't been great at regular updates recently. I just started college so it's been a bit hectic, but thankfully I finish really early on a Wednesday, so I'll continue updating this fic on that day. Reviews/follows/favourites are always much appreciated, and thank you!**


	6. Chapter 6

For a few shock and disturb filled moments of silence, the two detectives simply stood and stared at the scene of such a horrific kill; the body was lying slouched over against a cabinet that had evidently been smashed and damaged during the infliction of his injuries. The absolute clutter that was scattered violently around the living room inferred that the man's final minutes had involved him being part of a ferocious struggle, which he had evidently lost. However, on closer observation, it appeared that the fight he'd put up hadn't been in his last moments – a sturdy and uncomfortably firm wooden chair had been overturned, sections of rope snaking loosely around the arms and legs. This suggested that the man had been tied up and possibly tortured after scuffling with his attacker, but before he'd been killed. A sinister snail-trail of crimson leading from the chair to the body proved to be congruous with such a theory. In addition, the man not only sustained his fatal wound, which seemed to be a macabre slitting of the throat, but many other injuries: his left ear was half-torn off and dribbling crusted over blood, his right eye was surrounded by a brutish black bruising, his lip was split so badly that it almost appeared as if he had an extra smile permanently engraved into his face, and some of his fingernails had even been forcefully ripped from his body. As if to show the truly awful extent of his excruciation, the man's lifeless eyes were still wide open, as was his mouth, suspended in an agonised scream. All in all, it was truly gruesome.

As soon as John spotted the corpse, he sighed mournfully and his face appeared to age in his melancholy. He closed his eyes gently for a few seconds, mentally processing the terribly appalling event placed in front of him before he could take any course of action. While he did this, Martha hastily took off up the stairs, swinging her gun in all directions, constantly holding it ahead of her as she entered and made sure that not one room in the house was concealing any hidden dangers, including seeing if the killer was still lurking about. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on which way you look at it), this was not the case, therefore Martha steadily made her way back downstairs.

"It's all clear in here." She remarked upon reclaiming her place by John's side. Although her tone remained confident, her resolve had definitely been shaken due to such a shocking turn of events. She wasn't all that surprised when her comment to John was only met by silence, being well aware that he was just as moved as she was, if not more.

The detective inspector opened his eyes slowly, inhaling a drawn-out breath through his mouth, so as to avoid the sickening metallic scent of freshly spilled blood. Without so much as a glance in his partner's direction, he gradually stepped towards the dead body in order to examine it more intently. Crouching down so he was balanced precariously on his feet, John peered at Mr Eldak, shoving aside his obvious disgust at the pungent stench and appearance of the corpse, instead laying emphasis on his professionalism and focusing on his job.

"Single cut to the neck was likely the killer wound – the suspect used a small yet sharp and effective blade, by the looks of it. Judging by the amount of lacerations and other excessive injuries, he was tortured. Severely tortured." John soon had to halt his verbal treading through a long list of observations and deductions; his utter revulsion at the behaviour of the murderer was rapidly becoming overwhelming for him. After a few moments of hesitation, he decided to channel his disgust through his summary of the situation before him while rising to his feet. "These actions were almost certainly committed by a sadistic and ruthless killer who has a serious lack of empathy – a sociopath and psychopath alike."

"So, who are we looking for? Could the suspect for this murder be a family member or friend (well, enemy) of the Eldaks?" Martha offered, simply attempting to make conversation and do her job of bringing justice to the dead man to take her mind off his inhumane murder.

John was content to comply. "I doubt they're linked to the previous case of his brother's death, it's highly unlikely considering their M.O. In fact," At this point, he lowered his eyebrows in concentration as he stooped back over the corpse and plucked a small piece of card from the jacket pocket of the man. "I'd say our suspect killed Mr Eldak to attract our attention…"

"What do you-" Martha's unfinished question hung in the air, contributing to the tense and sombre atmosphere. The reason why she trailed off was because John was now holding the card up for her to read, after having read it himself.

The card was actually a note, but the paper on which it was written was expensive cream-coloured stationary with crisp, neat edges; it was as if it had been plucked from the page of perfection. Despite the gory and grim surroundings, the note didn't have a single drop of blood or a single smudge on it, only pen ink. That was mostly how the card had been noticed by John in the first place. He associated an odd sense of injustice from the simple object – it wasn't fair that an unimportant, fragile, tiny piece of paper should be kept in such pristine condition, never harmed or ruined, yet a significant, resilient, resourceful human being should be torn apart and eradicated from this world. Honestly, it infuriated John. And all these considerations had sprinted through his mind before he'd even read the words:

 _Bet you didn't see that one coming. – M xx_

The words were entirely incongruous with the paper. The handwriting (assumedly male) was scruffy and relaxed, reflecting the casual nature of the message. The general tone and handwriting gave a specific air of nonchalance, as opposed to the formal format and uptight tidiness of the card. Not to mention the two kisses situated at the end of the message, which made absolutely no sense to John or Martha, and only resulted in horribly twisting the meaning of the usual nicety. And what was the 'M' referring to? The probability that it was the initial of the suspect's forename or surname was likely, though there were any number of things it could mean.

"Who do you think wrote this?" Martha inquired quietly, to the point where she was almost whispering. This was partly due to a strange sort of reverence she held for the crime scene, and partly due to the concentrated sense of numbing fear and horror that she was quickly being submerged in.

"Someone dangerous. Someone new. Someone we certainly don't want to get involved with." John replied ominously, his tone sinister and his usually bright brown eyes darkened and dimmed by the sights he'd been unfortunate to cast his gaze upon in the past ten minutes.

Martha's response to the discovery of Mr Eldak's body wasn't so much expressed in her face or physical language, more so in her thought process. In the next few seconds, it abruptly occurred to her that perhaps the world wasn't all successful careers, happy families and long lives. Careers did get ruined and turn depressing and mundane, families did turn sour and bitter and back-stabbing, and lives definitely got cut short. Maybe this new promotion she'd received, this new job and type of work wasn't for her – maybe she wasn't cut out for it, wasn't intelligent enough or mentally strong enough to handle it. Well, perhaps she was right, but it wasn't something she could decide straight away. She had to push through the testing times in order to enjoy her achievement when it was over.

While Martha was wrapped up in her own thoughts, John briskly stepped past her and exited the house, still clutching the note firmly in his grasp. His features were set in stone, sincere and gravely profound. Despite the fact that Martha had known him for less than a day, she knew this was a side of John that was rarely and unwillingly uncovered. A side of him that was significantly darker than his superficially cheery exterior. It worried Martha, possibly even frightened her a little. But it certainly didn't deter her.

"Hang on, we need to call this in." She called out to John, but he was already long gone. Shaking her head in vague annoyance (though she was mainly too upset and stressed from the crime scene to be fully irritated), she yanked her mobile phone out of her jacket pocket and immediately dialled 999. After explaining the emergency and as many details as she could, emphasising her exact location, she then began to follow John back to the car. It was obvious he wasn't going to drive off and leave her, however he was pacing agitatedly when she arrived. Also due to the post-crime scene shock, he refrained from teasing her about her tardiness.

Once they'd both silently climbed into their respective seats in John's car, they maintained their introverted attitudes for the journey so far. John was so noiseless and focused on the road, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel with all his strength, though his mind was a thousand miles elsewhere. He was spinning multiple elaborate theories on the identity of the killer, and deeply reviewing and analysing the note over and over again, desperately trying to make sense of it all and figure it out as soon as possible. He knew the murderer was incredibly lethal without even having met them, and that they – whoever 'they' were – were a severe danger to everyone who got within a certain proximity to them, and potentially society as a general as well. On the other hand, he also knew he felt intrigued by them, tempted to associate with this unknown presence. Of course he knew it was wrong to feel that way, but was it really? Curiosity was only human nature, after all, and in his line of work, attraction to dangerous and criminal people was something that was expected of him so he could solve crimes and uphold the justice system. Another reason John wished to meet with the suspect was his belief that he could alter a person like that – he refuted the idea that people could be intrinsically good or evil, therefore knew he was capable of influencing the behaviour of a criminal classed as 'evil' for the better. Part of his attitude was to give people a chance; if someone who had unwillingly or accidentally, or even been in a 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario, committed a crime and wished for forgiveness or repentance, then John was always eager to rehabilitate them. Although it was a long shot, being able to successfully use this ideology on a psychopathic killer would be a remarkable achievement for him.

Unaware of these thoughts chasing each other around John's head, Martha became conscious of the fact that she had no idea where they were headed in their car journey. She supposed John knew, but his overactive mind was just taking priority at that moment. However, when it got to the point where she didn't recognise the neighbourhood anymore, she knew she had to intervene.

"John? John, where are we going?" Martha's words were wary, although she forced firmness on her tone.

It took at least ten seconds for John to drift away from his reverie and into reality before he answered. "Sorry. I like to drive while I'm thinking. I must've got carried away."

"It's fine." Martha replied, though she was still slightly concerned. "So we're going back to the office, right? I mean, this is big, we have to report it."

Somewhat reluctantly, but with definite obstinance, John disagreed. "No. We can't. I'm taking you home."


	7. Chapter 7

"Sorry, what? What do you mean?" Martha Jones attempted to process the words that John had just told her, but without much luck.

"I mean exactly what I said, Martha. I'm taking you home." John didn't even spare his partner a glance while he spoke, instead keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the road as he drove. His expression was serious and weary, his utter sincerity causing him to look so much older than his actual age; this concerned Martha, since she'd only ever seen him act cheerful and jovial. He was an entirely different person right now.

Why did John say he was taking her home? It made no sense to the detective sergeant, and she made sure he knew this. "John, I don't understand. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" John repeated in an incredulous tone, as if he couldn't believe Martha was even asking such a question. "The body, the message, everything! This entire case is wrong. The person who left that note is not someone to be messed with, the way that they killed Mr Eldak proved that. I just have a really bad feeling about this, and it's not something I want you to get caught up in."

"But I already am, John. I worked the case with you, I helped you track down the suspect, I discovered the body with you. I'm already involved, and if this new killer is as dangerous as you claim they are, then I'm sure they know that. You can't just drop me off at home and forget about me. I won't let you." Martha started off speaking softly, but her resolve and obstinate determination blossomed throughout her dialogue. She glared defiantly at John until he tore his eyes away from the road and turned to look at her. His eyes were tired and so very despondent, however a hint of admiration for his partner's attitude could be detected in them.

John sighed reluctantly before answering. "Look, I understand what you're saying, really I do. I just don't want you to get hurt, Martha. I couldn't bear having more blood on my hands." Martha tilted her head to one side in curiosity about John's last comment while he simply glanced away, refusing to elaborate.

"I won't get hurt. I'm a grown woman – I can handle myself, I don't need protecting." Snapping at her partner a little, Martha's tone grew slightly bitter and irritated. It was justifiable on her part, because although she admired and got on with John like a house on fire, she certainly didn't appreciate being patronised, no matter how genuine John's concern for her was.

"Believe me, I know." Smiling gently, the detective inspector ensured that Martha knew he respected her. He also continued to explain that his protection of her was not the only reason for him dropping her off at home. "It's nearly half seven at night and we're not going to be able to do anymore work that will get us closer to the killer today. Your shift is essentially finished, you might as well get off early."

Martha raised a suspicious eyebrow, still not convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" John exclaimed. "There's nothing else we can do at this point. I'm telling the truth."

"Very well." Martha replied at the same moment that the blue Mini Cooper pulled up outside the block of flats in which she lived with her younger sister. Still staring warily at John and scrutinising his expression for any signs of untruth, she heaved open her car door and placed one foot on the pavement outside. Before she fully got out, Martha whirled back around to face John. "Promise me you'll tell DCI Smith about the murder, and that you won't take any action by following it up without me. Promise me you'll at least call?"

John's face softened along with his voice. "I promise."

Smiling, Martha continued exiting the vehicle, shutting the door behind her and strolling towards her apartment. However, before she took more than three steps, she abruptly froze and dashed back to the car, gesturing for John to roll down the window on her side.

"Oh, what now?" John acted exasperated, but he was grinning.

"Hang on, how did you know where I live?" Narrowing her eyes, Martha was vaguely astounded, not to mention a little concerned.

"You're the detective, you figure it out." John remarked smugly, raising his eyebrows and smirking cheekily.

"What are you talking about? You're a detective too!" Martha retorted, then considered the situation for a moment. It didn't take her long to realise. "Ah, you read my file… But how did you have time? You only got it this morning."

"I'm a fast reader." John replied truthfully, though Martha still had her doubts.

"Sure you are." She lingered on her words while she spoke, giving the impression of a cautious attitude.

"Anyway, I should go. Tell your sister I said 'hi'." John did that playfully self-satisfied smile again, the tip of his tongue sticking through his teeth in amusement. Martha simply shook her head and chuckled slightly, waving goodbye to her partner. Honestly, she found it so incredibly frustrating yet invigorating spending time with him.

* * *

"Oh, Martha, you're back!" Tish Jones exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of her sister upon entering the flat. "I didn't expect you back so early – I'm just making tea if you'd like some?"

"Oooh, sounds nice. What are you making?" Martha enthused as she shrugged off her suit jacket and placed her keys on the table top, causing a pleasant jangling sound as she did.

"Just pasta with tomato sauce." Tish replied while frantically rushing around the kitchen to extract plates from cupboards, remove sauce from the microwave and check that the pasta wasn't boiling over in the pan.

"Go on then." Martha couldn't resist giving in to her sister's cooking, especially since she was in an oddly excitable (therefore positive) mood.

Tish soon picked up on this. "Since you're in such a good mood, I'm guessing you like your promotion. But I'll ask anyway – how did your first day go?"

Martha beamed as her younger sister gazed expectantly at her from across the room, eager for her to spill the beans. Due to her desire to impress Tish, it took a few moments of hesitation for Martha to word her answer accurately. "It was… a roller-coaster, to be honest. But do you know what? I can't wait to go back tomorrow."

"That's brilliant, Martha!" Tish was genuinely extremely pleased for her older sister, though she couldn't leave it at that; she pressed Martha for more details of her day. "So did you get a case? Okay, I suppose you can't tell me anything about it, but did you? How are your new colleagues? Do you get upgraded coffee now?"

With her mind reeling, Martha still managed to somehow keep track of the bombardment of questions being aimed and fired at her. "Yes, that's true, yes, they're great, and no. Does that answer your questions?" She smiled.

"Sorry…" Tish looked sheepish, but she still refused to back down. "How's the case, then? Was it a grisly one?"

Martha's expression suddenly grew distant and melancholic, causing Tish to regret asking about such a sensitive matter. "Even if I could, I wouldn't want to talk about it, Tish."

The younger sister's face fell into a sympathetic frown. She jumped to apologise, but Martha's accepting glance showed her there was no need to, as it would only make things more awkward. Thankfully, at that moment, dinner was ready to be served, so Tish made herself busy with that while Martha perched on a wooden chair at the dinner table after having laid out the cutlery. As soon as Tish served up and Martha complimented her on the taste and presentation of the food, she delved back into conversation, on a more optimistic note this time.

"Do you have a new partner detective now? What are they like?"

"Oh, that reminds me actually – he told me to tell you 'hi'."

"Who did?"

"My new partner."

"He?" Tish's tone of voice and expression were suggestive as she spoke.

"Yep." Martha continued regardless of the implications of her sister's inquiry. "His name's John Smith. He's a detective inspector, and really intelligent – and funny. He's kind of a nutter, actually." She resolved.

"What does he look like?" Tish dug deeper.

"Tall, kind of scruffy but eccentric, quite young-"

"Attractive?" Although Tish attempted to look as innocent as possible, the fact that she interrupted, or even asked such a question in the first place inferred her thoughts were quite the opposite.

Martha nudged her in response. "Oi, you! Honestly, I can't even tell you about a work colleague now without you trying to set us up." She sighed, but she was smiling humorously.

"Yeah, but is he attractive?" Tish refused to let Martha escape from giving an answer.

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded her head. "Yeah… He is."

Practically leaping from her seat, Tish whooped ecstatically and exaggeratedly before starting to chant teasingly in a sing-song tone. "Ooh, Martha's got a cru-ush, Martha's got a cru-ush…"

"Shut up!" Martha acted irritated, but blushed nonetheless. "I never said I have a crush on him – God, what are you, twelve?"

At this point, Tish refrained from chanting; Martha did make a good statement about her ludicrously immature attitude. However, even though the conversation was fairly embarrassing for the detective, it was far better than discussing a depressing and disturbing case and instead served to keep her mind off it, as well as her anxiety about the new killer on the block. Because it was extremely worrying.

* * *

After John dragged the car away from the kerb adjacent to the block of flats in which Martha resided, he knew he had to research in order to get closer to the murderer who wrote the note. Of course he'd lied to Martha, but he hadn't done it because he was a bad person or even because he wanted to. He had to. Besides, he would still accept her request to inform DCI Smith about the body (just not the note), and he wasn't going to take action and follow up the killer; he was only doing some harmless file scanning. On the other hand, no matter how many times John tried to convince himself he was less of a liar by mentally repeating his plan of (in)action, he still knew deep down he was acting immorally.

On arriving back at the precinct, John almost bumped into Donna as she was leaving after completing her shift.

"Oi, watch where you're going, spaceman!" She huffed, but there was humour in her tone, and her fake fury was simply a cover for how startled she'd been.

"Sorry, Donna. See you tomorrow." John apologised absent-mindedly, focusing on the corridor and path ahead rather than what was right in front of him.

Noticing John's lack of interest and distant behaviour, Donna immediately realised her friend had likely hit a big and potentially dangerous case, therefore offered her advice. She placed her hand on John's arm to make sure he paid attention to her, and spoke softly yet firmly. "John, listen to me. Don't you dare overwork yourself, even if you have found something that requires a lot of action."

"I know. Thanks, Donna." John smiled kindly, maintaining eye contact to prove he was listening to his friend.

Even though Donna knew John had mentally absorbed her advice, she furrowed her brow as she noticed something else, causing her to ask one more question before letting him go. "Where's Martha?"

First of all, John considered inventing a petty excuse, but stopped himself and told the truth. He was well aware that Donna would pick apart his words and condemn him for lying if he did. "I took her home." The statement required no further explanation, for Donna understood.

Shaking her head, Donna sighed resentfully. "John… You do realise you're doing it again, don't you? Pushing people away when something bad is coming. I know it's your way of protecting yourself, but it doesn't do you any good, and the sooner you accept that, the better."

John was silent. Despite his mass intelligence and brain jam-packed with information and vocabulary, he couldn't think up a single word with which he could reply.

Instead, Donna continued. "I know you're thinking about her, and what happened to her. But you couldn't have prevented it, and it wasn't your fault. It's not going to happen to Martha, either, so stop pushing her away. The thing is, you must learn to trust others as well as forgive yourself. Otherwise you'll end up living in regret and unhappiness forever. Please, John. Don't be such an idiot, eh?"

The detective inspector gazed admirably yet sadly at his friend while she spoke, and even chuckled slightly at the phrasing of her final sentence. The two of them shared a sweet and knowing smile for a few moments until John made a move to leave.

"Thank you, Donna, so much. I know I don't tell you enough, but I really think you're a star." His voice was saturated with warmth, and he sealed his appreciative comment with a sneaky wink before dashing off up the stairs to his office.

Donna sighed again. "When will that man learn?" She spoke to no one in particular, and no one heard.


	8. Chapter 8

Reluctantly waking up after an incredibly restless night involving a significant lack of sleep, Martha Jones sighed resignedly. The incessant buzzing of her alarm was currently the most irritatingly hostile noise she'd ever heard. Thankfully, her infuriation was soon replaced by an uplifting feeling of excitement at the thought of working with her new partner, whom she found so very interesting and generally a joy to be around. However, her positive attitude soon dissipated when she recalled the events of yesterday evening, and her contentedness soon morphed into an ugly sense of dread lodged deep inside of her. No matter how much she longed to forget about the darkly twisted killer who had brutally murdered their suspect and left such a sickening note, she was unable to – partly due to the fact that human brains focus on negativity, partly due to her duty as a detective sergeant and the probability that the new case would be her and John's focus until they caught the killer, which Martha somehow suspected would be a while yet.

Of course, she turned up to work as usual early in the morning, making sure she was pumped full to the brim with caffeine to prevent her sleep deprivation from overwhelming her. Upon entering the car park of the precinct, she frowned as she heard a constant, obnoxious car horn that wouldn't stop making a noise. Ignoring it, Martha entered the building, nodding and smiling at Donna when she caught sight of her; although the encounter was only intended to be brief, the receptionist beckoned her over.

"Hi, Donna. How are you?" Martha used a simple phatic phrase to conceal her confusion and concern about being summoned.

"I'm alright, thanks, apart from that bloody car horn beeping outside. How about you? I heard you and John found a case." Donna didn't add much detail about said case because firstly, she wasn't sure how much Martha knew due to John's evasion last night, and secondly, she didn't actually know anything about it in the first place.

Martha herself was vaguely startled that Donna knew about the new murderer already – she figured Donna must definitely be a close friend of John's. Talking about the case also renewed the detective's anxiety along with explicit mental images of the crime scene from yesterday. It took a few moments to clear her head enough to give a sufficient response. "Yeah… I think this one's going to be a challenge. It's, er… It's quite dark. But I'm coping, just about. Got plenty of coffee to get me through it, as always." She gave a half-hearted chuckle after that last comment.

"I hope it goes well for you." Donna comforted, placing her hand on Martha's fleetingly, as a gesture of warmth.

"Thanks, Donna." A smile of appreciation flitted across Martha's lips, rapidly consumed by a queasy feeling of underlying fretfulness that plagued the back of her mind.

"That's all I'm here for, after all – some hearty moral support!" Donna laughed, but it was slightly hollow.

Martha's expression fell a little. She had never been able to stand it when great people had low self-esteem, therefore she always sought to fix it. Speaking in a gentle tone, the detective attempted to boost her newfound friend's confidence. "I'm sure you're so much more than that."

"Sure." Donna's reply was more than a little sarcastic, and although she smiled with her mouth, her eyes were immensely melancholic and refuting of Martha's remark. However, her expression soon reverted back to her normal busy-body-and-a-hint-of-gossipy self as she settled back to ask the detective what she was going to question her about initially. "Sorry, I was going to ask you: have you seen John today?"

"Oh! Er, no, I've just come in for work." Martha was only happy to help, and replied with a pleasant tone. However, the implications of Donna inquiring about such a matter caused her brow to furrow in disdain and raise similar mental questions of her own. Despite the audacity and intensity of aforementioned questions in her mind, she chose to settle for one. "Why, has he not been in today?

"I haven't seen him, no. He came in yesterday evening to finish up, but I don't know how long he was here for 'cause I was just leaving. He's usually in at the crack of dawn, but he always stops by here to say hello. Unless he did come in early and went to check out a new case… I honestly don't know." Donna speculated out loud about John's whereabouts.

"Did he mention what he was doing when he came back here last night?" Martha asked, wary of the idea that John might have continued to work the case without her when she'd specifically asked him not to.

"No… Well, he probably did some file-reading on your new case, or some research. Or he could have just been filing his report on what happened yesterday…" Donna hastily added the last theory when she noticed Martha's crestfallen and vaguely irritated expression induced by the thought that John worked without her.

However, the detective did a mediocre job of covering her contempt with a change of subject. "Ah, right. Okay, well I'm going up to the fourth floor now anyway, so I'll pop in his office and see if he's there. I promise I'll bring him down to you if I find him."

"Great stuff. See you later, Martha!" Donna beamed, grateful for another female friend she could bond with in the workplace.

"Thanks again, Donna." Grinning in an equal response, Martha headed for the lift up to the fourth floor, hoping against hope that she'd find John there.

On arriving at John's office, she noticed the door was still left open from the last time anyone had been in there – Martha doubted this was anyone other than John, otherwise they would have been polite and treated John's space with respect by closing the door. On the other hand, the door was half way open; John always left it wide open due to the absolute trust he maintained in all the people he met, in addition to the open relationships he held particularly with everyone he worked with. Therefore, Martha figured someone who worked with him had likely nudged it so it was more, but not completely, closed, possibly because John hadn't been into work very recently (as he would then be unable to control the open or closed nature of his door himself). In conclusion, the detective sergeant deduced that it was highly unlikely that her partner was in his office, and, by extension, probably not the rest of the building either.

Upon entering the office, Martha's theory was confirmed. Although she knew she should just leave the room and get to work, maybe find another case since there was a significant lack of leads on their new one, Martha couldn't resist hovering about. She knew John had been in the office last night, from what Donna had told her, and she was desperate to know if he'd continued working on the case without her. Hesitating while she attempted to leave it, it didn't take long until Martha gave in and scuttled over to John's desk. It was cluttered with papers and files, as per usual, as well as a couple of extra coffee mugs this time. This inferred that the detective inspector had stayed back rather late working the previous evening, hence why he would require excessive caffeine to prevent him from drifting off into tempting slumber. However, Martha couldn't find any evidence of what John had been studying – no files left over, no notes that had been taken (not that she'd be able to understand his handwriting if there was), nothing. The computer was unused as well, as Martha could tell from the faint layer of dust coating the entire keyboard, so searching up his internet history or using Google auto-fill to track his searches was out of the question. Sighing at the lack of insight available to her, Martha simply sauntered out of the room and down to the third floor, where she approached DCI Sarah Jane Smith.

"Oh, good morning DS Jones. How are you finding your work with DI Smith?" The boss inquired politely after the well-being of her employee, smiling comfortingly while she did.

"Good, thanks. Hectic, but interesting." Martha grinned back, then rapidly moved on to what she came to ask her in the first place. "Speaking of which, have you seen John- I mean, DI Smith? I don't think he's been into work this morning, and he's not in his office, I just checked. I know he came in last night, but that's as far as I'm aware. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"Ah." DCI Smith commented rather abruptly, a look of disapproval on her face which appeared incongruous with the conversation, though it soon became clear. "Yes, he did come in last night. I went up to check on him at around half past eleven yesterday, which is when I finish my shift, and he was still working. I told him to go home, since I'm always warning him about overworking, but he shrugged me off. Now, I'm just as stubborn as he is, as I'm sure you're aware, so I refused to back down. Eventually, he allowed me to escort him out of the building, and he headed to his car. That was the last I saw of him. I knew staying up late would affect him the next day, but does he ever listen? No. Anyway, when you do see him, please make sure he knows how disappointed with him I am."

"Will do." Martha chuckled. "Do you know what he was working on, by any chance?"

"He told me he was filing the report for the Eldak murder case, but goodness knows how it took him so long."

"Right. Thank you, DCI Smith. I'll report back to you later."

"Please do. Goodbye, DS Jones." DCI Smith smiled warmly once again, her stern expression softening a little as she did. She'd always had a soft-spot for Martha, after all.

Without looking back, the detective sergeant dashed down the corridor and into the elevator. She had a fairly decent idea as to where John might be now, thanks to Sarah's clues. When the lift pinged to signify her arrival at ground floor, she stepped out confidently and headed out to the car park. The car horn was still sounding noisily, but this time it helped her rather than annoyed her. Following the sound, it didn't take long for Martha to locate the small blue car belonging to her partner, and she made an immediate beeline for it. As soon as she approached the vehicle, she noticed John was slumped over in the driver's seat, his face pressed forcefully on the steering wheel, causing the horn to be triggered.

Rolling her eyes, yet smirking slightly at the comical sight, Martha thumped on the car window, right next to John's head. No response. She tried again, harder this time. Still, nothing. Finally, she sighed, strolled briskly around to the front of the car and leaned on the bonnet, activating the security alarm. Waking up abruptly, John's head jolted up, causing him to bash it on the roof of his car. Thankfully, this stopped the car horn from blaring, though the detective obviously didn't believe his injury was worth it.

"Ow!" He exclaimed, rubbing the area of impact and frowning irritably. Glancing to the side, he instantly noticed Martha standing with her hands on her hips next to the car, raising her eyebrows in disdain. He wound down the window manually in order to speak with her.

"What did you do that for?!" John was confused and startled, still rubbing his head and glancing blearily around since he'd only just woken up.

"You're seriously asking me that?" Martha scoffed, but realised John was serious when he stared at her expectantly, awaiting a genuine answer. "Because you wouldn't wake up! Your face set off the car horn and it's been beeping all morning, and I did try thumping on the window."

"Okay, fine. How did you know it was my car?" John seemed vaguely impressed, despite his sleepiness.

"I just did. Does it matter?" Martha evidently had her priorities straight. "Anyway, you're the one who has some explaining to do."

"What?" John narrowed his eyes, apparently affronted at Martha's accusation of him having done something wrong.

"I know you worked late last night. It's obvious from the amount of coffee you drank, I saw it on your desk." Martha looked smug.

"Coffee? Nah! I'm an avid tea drinker – I find coffee disgusting." John changed the subject in a manner which was the exact opposite of smooth. His partner refused to fall for it.

"Were you working the case from yesterday?"

"Which one?" He replied cockily.

"You know which one." Martha spoke sincerely, conviction shining brightly in her eyes.

The smirk dropping from his face, John answered her with equal candidness. "Yes, I know which one. And no, I wasn't working that case. I swear. There were no leads, there was no way I could have made any progress. I just stayed to catch up on filing, and time ran away with me, honest."

"How can I believe you?"

"Just trust me, Martha. Please." Desperation and pleading overwhelmed John's gaze and was directed at his partner, who remained silent for a few moments. Eventually, whether it was due to his words or simply his truthful stare, she nodded.

"Okay. I trust you."

"Thank you." John beamed, then scratched his head in puzzlement. "How long have I been asleep? Is it day or night? I always get those two mixed up. Actual time, well, that just eludes me. I never get it right."

Giggling, Martha told him. "It's nearly half past eight, in the morning."

"What?" John sat bolt upright, patting his pockets to see if he could locate a watch, but he had no such luck. "Wait a minute – what? That can't be right, I only just – what?!"

"No, I'm definitely right." Martha grinned amusedly, content to watch her partner while he squirmed in confusion.

"I've been asleep for nine hours? Couldn't you let me round it up to ten?" He teased, then yanked open the car door without warning, causing Martha to jump back to avoid being shoved out of the way by it. Briefly frowning at the security alarm that was still persistently beeping, he pressed a button on his fob key to stop it. Leaping out with renewed vigour, John then addressed his partner. "Right, then! Let's go solve some crimes, shall we?"


	9. Chapter 9

"So there are no leads for what happened yesterday – nothing, nada, nichts, niente, zilch, zero… Am I going too far with the translations for 'nothing'?" John spoke his last question almost as an aside to Martha while they jogged eagerly across the car park and into the precinct.

"Uh, yeah, just a bit over the top there." Martha replied truthfully as she concentrated on keeping pace with him.

"Good. Well, not good, bad. _Annoying_. Am I annoying? Or, more importantly, do you find me annoying, Martha Jones?" Abruptly pivoting on the spot, John faced his partner and stared at her directly in the eye to prove his new inquiry was genuinely serious.

The sincerity of his tone and expression caught Martha by surprise. "Well, er, not really…" Before she could add any extra detail into her answer, Donna called over from her desk at reception.

"Oi, Martian!" – she was obviously referring to John – "I see you've finally decided to drop into work. If only the rest of us could pick and choose our hours." Her tone was taunting and vaguely bitter towards her distant cousin, however she lightened the atmosphere a little by winking at Martha.

"Ah, Donna! Good to see you so bright and early – I really am sorry for my lie-in. Hope everything's well with you, anyway sorry, gotta dash!" John spoke rapidly as he grabbed Martha's hand and dragged her along with him to the elevator.

"Oh yeah, 'gotta dash' – that's just typical of you!" Donna yelled after him and rolled her eyes, accepting Martha's apology that she transmitted through her eyes and by mouthing 'sorry'.

"What did you do that for? We have time, you could have spoken to Donna." Martha criticised John's rushed behaviour and treatment of his friend once they'd reached the lift and John had pressed the button. "And why did you just press the third floor button?"

"Because we're going to the third floor, isn't that obvious?" Although John's words would have been patronising, the way in which he said them morphed the meaning into a statement of misunderstanding on his part.

"Okay, look," Martha decided to ignore his comment and focus on asking him what was what. "Last night, did you definitely report Gray Eldak's death to DCI Smith? I know I phoned an ambulance, but the forensic team still needed to be sent in straight away, and I know how forgetful you are."

"Martha." John brought his partner's concerned ramblings to a close by speaking softly to her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Think about it. This morning when you came in the office, did DCI Smith ask you for a debrief on what happened yesterday, or anything at all?"

"No, actually." Martha admitted.

"No, that's because I gave her the debrief. I explained everything that happened in detail, and I made her call forensics before I even said all this. Did you really think I wouldn't?" His words certainly were convincing.

"Of course not, I was just worried. But next time, don't just drop me off at home and go off without me, okay? 'Cause it kind of makes it seem like you're ditching me to sneak around on your own." Martha ensured that John understood her feelings clearly.

"I won't, then. Besides, I like having you around." John smiled friendlily.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Grinning at one another, the two detectives then stepped out of the lift in unison, though Martha slowed her pace a little to allow John to take the lead. He guided her to DCI Smith's office, which made Martha think that perhaps he was going to prove to her that he wasn't lying, but this soon turned out to be an inaccurate guess.

"Sarah Jane Smith!" John greeted the chief detective cheerily, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets and rocking back and forth subtly on his heels.

"That's DCI Smith to you." The boss corrected sternly, however she couldn't resist smirking.

"Ah, come on! You and I both know I can get away with calling you Sarah Jane." John retorted cheekily, causing Martha to internally cringe; surely he'd be punished for that?

"True, but not in front of others. I don't want them getting any notions that it's okay for them to call me that too, it's bad enough with just you." DCI Smith settled the score once and for all before moving onto a more relevant and professional topic of conversation. "Now, is that all you came to waste my time about, or is there something else you want?"

"Well, since there's nothing to follow up on from yesterday, have you got another case for us? You know what I'm like, can't stay still for five minutes – allons-y, that's what I say!" John enthused, but reduced his manic grin slightly when he noticed Martha's side-eye.

Sifting through files, DCI Smith soon found something for the two of them. "I have got something that I think will suit you. There was a reported kidnapping on the Becry Estate last night – the team down here are already on it, but I have faith in you two to move the investigation forward. Here, I'd better hand you the file personally to read, since you never answer your emails."

"Computers are rubbish! Well, I suppose they're helpful, and quick, but they always crash on me!" John cut his technology rant off (which is ironic, since he's the one inventing sonic devices) before it got too extensive, and instead decided to simply get to work. "Thanks for finding this for me, we'll get to it right away. Isn't that right, Martha?"

"Of course, DCI Smith, we'll do our best." The detective sergeant added.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you. See you later, detectives." DCI Smith nodded approvingly as she dismissed them.

"Do you have all the women in this place wrapped around your little finger?" Martha asked incredulously as they both headed up the steps to John's office, evidently referring to the way DCI Smith allowed John to call her anything other than her proper police address.

"Oh God no! Have you met Donna? She keeps me in line more than the boss does, though the boss does do an excellent job herself." John replied accurately, dismissing the mere concept of him reducing the women he knew as well as enforcing the fact that it was entirely untrue.

"Yes, I agree." Martha replied in a slightly sheepish manner, due to the fact that she'd come off as a little offensive, however John barely even acknowledged her shame.

"Now that's out of the way, let's get this file read, shall we?" The detective inspector beamed at his partner excitably, waving the file about in the air before dashing up the stairs, two at a time, to the fourth floor so he they could read it at his desk. Flopping down in the wooden desk chair, John surprisingly whipped a pair of black framed reading glasses out of his coat pocket and shoved them carelessly onto his face.

"You… wear glasses?" Martha asked in disbelief and also out of curiosity. She wasn't really sure why it came as so much of a shock to her.

"Yeah… That a problem?" John retorted, narrowing his eyes and lowering his eyebrows as he peered warily over his glasses at her.

"No, of course not. I suppose I just didn't expect it, that's all." Martha shrugged it off, but John wouldn't let it drop for some reason.

"Why not?"

"I dunno! You don't seem like a glasses kind of guy – though, now I've seen you wearing them, they do actually suit you."

"I see. Thanks." John smiled goofily and adjusted his glasses as if to say 'hey look at me in my fancy well-suited glasses don't I look clever'. He then turned back to the file, indirectly signalling for Martha to join him in reading over his shoulder, which she did. Although Martha was a sufficiently quick reader, she still finished the file at least thirty seconds after John did due to his phenomenally fast reading speed. John patiently and non-patronisingly waited until his partner had finished reading until he spoke.

"So, Lisa Hallett, a 23-year-old tech expert who works for MI5, went missing in-between nine and half past ten last night according to her family and CCTV cameras in the area. Where would you like to start?" Despite John's attempted jovial tone, Martha couldn't help but notice that his eyes took on a glaze of melancholy when he said the words 'went missing' – now she was thinking about it, he'd had the same look when DCI Smith first mentioned a kidnapping case. Perhaps John felt particular sympathy for these sorts of cases? Or perhaps a missing persons case was a significant part of his past work as a detective that triggered negative memories for him? Either way, Martha wasn't exactly planning on asking him, since it would be incredibly rude if the latter speculation was true.

"Martha? What do you think?" John's steady tone shattered her carefully-built reverie, causing her to realise how much of a daydream she'd drifted off into.

Shaking her head without thinking, Martha exhaled rapidly and addressed her partner with vague embarrassment. "Sorry about that, I was miles away. I think we should visit the Becry Estate and see if there are any clues there. If there is, we've got leads. If not, we should come back here and have a re-think."

"Sounds like a plan." John agreed contentedly. Leaping up from his seat in earnest, he swiped his glasses off his nose and tucked them away in his coat pocket in one smooth gesture. "Off we go!"

The pair of detectives swooped out of John's office once again, down the stairs, waving enthusiastically at Donna as they exited the building. Since they already knew where the blue Mini Cooper was thanks to John's earlier lie-in, it didn't take long at all to reach it. Diving into the driver's seat, John hastily swept all the scrunched up pieces of paper and other generic rubbish off his and Martha's seats in order to make sitting in and driving the car a lot easier and cleaner. The detective sergeant definitely appreciated this.

Her excited anticipation for the case ahead soon dipped slightly when her mind posed a question which she verbally confronted John with. "Do you actually know the way to the Becry Estate?"

"Of course I do! Who do you think I am? My sense of direction can't be faulted. I could find my way to Amarillo without the help of Toni Christie! Though, technically he wouldn't be any help, since he was the one looking for it in the first place and asking where it was, so he probably wouldn't-"

"John." Martha spoke her partner's name in a warning tone, raising her eyebrows at him as she awaited a truthful answer; it was obvious he was lying due to his infinite babbling that wouldn't end unless he was interrupted, hence why Martha intervened.

Physically shuffling and mentally struggling to find an excuse, John eventually came up with nothing and sighed, reluctantly giving in to a more realistic perspective. "Yeah, okay, alright then. I don't know the way. But did that stop Captain Scott? I don't think so!"

"First of all, I'm pretty sure Captain Scott did know where he was going. Secondly, his expedition ended awfully, so not a great comparison there. Now look – you've made us change the subject!" Martha's vague infuriation with her partner was evident in her speech, however she soon calmed down and got back on topic. "Right, do you have a map in here?"

"Maybe somewhere… How should I know?" John's obstinance was also obstructing them from getting anywhere.

"Fine, I'll look for it then." Martha huffed, wrenching the car door open before stepping out and yanking the back door open. After throwing various items of rubbish about and practically turning the contents of the car upside down (as if it wasn't untidy enough already), she gave up. "That's it. There's no map in here."

"Or you could check the boot?" John suggested innocently. His attitude, coupled with the fact that he wasn't making a move to help her, irritated Martha even more. Slamming the car door shut as forcefully as she could, the detective sergeant then lifted up the boot and sifted through even more unnecessary litter until she finally found what they required. "Aha! Got it." She exclaimed triumphantly.

"Can we go now?" John whined immaturely, like a child asking 'are we nearly there yet?' on a long car journey.

"No thanks to you." Martha muttered, returning to her passenger seat and unfolding the map. She scrutinized it for a few moments, finding where their intended destination was before instructing her partner as to where they needed to go in order to reach it. The journey there was fairly ordinary, except for John's unbelievably reckless driving, though Martha was oddly getting used to it. She was getting used to him.


	10. Chapter 10

Upon arriving at the scene of Lisa Hallett's disappearance, John immediately leapt out of the car. Turning back, he then crouched so his head was visible through the window and gesticulated at Martha impatiently.

"You coming or what?" He yelled through the glass, causing his partner to roll her eyes and yank the car door open, stepping out. John then returned to full height so he could communicate with Martha across the top of the car. "That's more like it."

"I would be more enthusiastic if it hadn't have taken us half an hour longer to get here than it should have done." The detective sergeant huffed, raising her eyebrows in ultimate disapproval at John.

"I can't help it if I made a wrong turn or two! And I still think it was the car's fault." John defended himself, although Martha's reply made it obvious that he wasn't exactly telling the truth.

"'A wrong turn or two'? I think you'll find just about every turn you made was a wrong one!" She scoffed mockingly as he strode around the car to stand around a foot in front of her.

"We got here in the end, that's what matters." Displaying his typical lop-sided smirk, John easily disarmed Martha and caused her to soften into a vague smile, the frustration draining from her expression. Suddenly realising how close he was stood, Martha awkwardly leaned back a little, feeling uncomfortable with her lack of personal space. On the other hand, John didn't seem to be affected by this, or even acknowledge how close he'd been standing to his partner – it was evident that he was oblivious to that sort of thing.

"Anyway, we'd better get on. You know, kidnapping and all." Martha terminated their conversation and gauche encounter by stepping back from John and adding a significant note of sincerity to her tone.

John's eyebrows flew up his forehead dramatically, almost in surprise, as he replied. "Ah! Yes, of course. I'm on it like an odd sonnet. I know most people say 'car bonnet' instead, but I don't like that phrase. There's something not quite right about it. As for an odd sonnet, well I would be all over that! Can you imagine if Shakespeare wrote a fifteen line sonnet instead? I'd analyse it to death!"

"Er, John?" Martha addressed her partner melodically, tapping his arm. "Tangent…"

"Sorry! I really have a tendency for that, don't I? I'll try to stop, but I can't promise anything. Right," – John pointed exaggeratedly towards the buildings on the Becry Estate – "Crime scene. Allons-y!" He winked at Martha overdramatically.

The two of them strolled purposefully towards the estate, towards a police officer (the same who had been at the crime scene of the Eldak murder) who was already there, examining the cordoned-off area that possibly held evidence of the crime. Martha stood patiently next to John while he prepared to basically interrogate the officer about their findings. Before he started talking, the detective sergeant pulled out a small black notepad out of her inner jacket pocket along with a pen, clicking it and allowing her hand to hover expectantly above the paper. When she glanced up at John, waiting for him to speak, he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What are you doing?" He whispered inquisitively at her.

"Making notes. I thought it would be useful."

"No, no, no. Don't… Don't do that." John muttered, acting slightly embarrassed of his partner.

"Why not?"

"It's just not my style. Besides, we can remember what Officer Cooper says, can't we?"

"Yeah, but I always think it's better to make notes." Martha argued her case; however, John pouted and gestured his head towards the officer standing near them, clearly growing intolerant of waiting to speak to the detectives.

"Okay then." Martha frowned while shoving her notebook and pen back into her pocket. John beamed at her before turning to the police officer to finally instigate a conversation.

"Morning, officer – it's great to see you again. Or not, actually, 'cause that means there's been another crime. Okay, er, what can you tell us about the crime scene or kidnapping?" The detective inspector inquired professionally, his hazel gaze piercing the officer in an almost unnervingly intense manner as he awaited an answer.

"From witnesses, we know that Miss Hallett was reported to have been taken by a white male in his early thirties at nine forty-five last night. She was taken from this exact spot, just next to the entrance to the estate. So far, we haven't found any physical evidence on the ground that could be analysed at the lab for a DNA match, but there are some scuff marks on the grass nearby that prove Miss Hallett was taken unwillingly." Officer Cooper reeled off his knowledge of the case so far.

"That's very helpful, thank you." John remained incredibly appreciative of his colleagues, believing it was always important to do so. As he got ready for leaving, Martha quickly addressed the officer.

"Mind if we take a look around?" She requested, earning a nod of consent in reward. Turning her attention back to John, Martha then showed her mystification at his lack of enthusiasm in investigating the crime scene. "Are you not having a look?"

"Nah. Don't see the point." John answered in a rather deflated manner.

"That's surprising. I thought you'd leap at the chance to investigate by hand, you usually do." Martha visibly recoiled in shock at his reply, and pursued the matter.

"Murders or thefts, yeah sure. But kidnappings are different. I'd rather go searching for the victim straight away than uselessly ponder about some irrelevant crime scene. It takes up less time. Bearing in mind we're on a tight schedule when the victim is still out there suffering – we should try find her before it's too late." John's tone was bitter and melancholic, giving Martha more insight into a potential part of his past police work. It was now obvious to her that he was connected to a missing persons case, otherwise there was no way he'd get so emotionally invested in an off the cuff kidnapping.

"I see where you're coming from, but the scene of a kidnapping can often present some major clues as to who the suspect is, or where they've taken the victim." At this point, while Martha's gaze voided John's to drift around their surroundings, she noticed something significant about a section of grass. "Hang on a minute, I think I might be onto something…"

Striding over to the aforementioned grass, the detective sergeant crouched down next to it and scrutinised the ground intently. Tentatively placing a hand on the grass, she then scraped a layer of orange-red dust off the ground with her finger and examined it more thoroughly by bringing it closer to her eyes.

John, looming over his partner from his standing position on the pavement next to her, was unable to resist commenting when Martha didn't respond verbally. "What is it?"

"Red dust, probably from someone's shoe. It's from a particular type of brick that's been ground down. It's quite rare, usually found in particular countryside fields. If we could find a field with matching dust, that could be where our suspect has taken Lisa." Martha's voice became slightly more whispered towards the end of her speculations due to the awe of discovering something potentially ground-breaking and vital to their case. As she finished speaking, she extracted an evidence bag from her pocket and scooped up some of the dust to take back to the station to analyse.

John sucked in a breath in excitement and ran a restless hand through his hair, tousling it excessively and causing it to stand up comically, not that he cared. "Oh, Martha, Martha, Martha. Martha Jones, that was brilliant! You are brilliant! Just brilliant." Holding out a hand, the detective inspector hauled his partner up from her crouching position and continued to grip her hand as he dashed off to his car, dragging her alongside him.

After another borderline dangerous car journey, due to John's horrific driving skills which only exacerbated by his hyperactive mood, the pair of detectives arrived back at the station. Donna didn't have the chance to divert them from their case this time – not that she would, she was obviously opposed to delaying an important investigation – since she wasn't behind her desk, therefore John and Martha bolted to the lift without distraction. This time, however, they selected the button for below ground, as that was where the scientific analysis laboratory resided. On arriving in the lab, the detective sergeant was the first to address the lab assistant.

"Hi Tallulah, how are you?" Beaming at her apparent friend, Martha stepped over to her.

"Well hello there Martha! I'm great thanks – work's just the same old stuff as usual, but I'm enjoying it. How's your promotion?" Tallulah spoke with a beautiful flowing American accent, expressing overt eagerness and interest through her bright eyes and dazzling smiles when speaking to her friend.

"It's brilliant, pretty hectic, but you know how it is in detective work – God knows I've complained about my work load enough to you before. How's Laszlo doing?" Martha joked knowingly before referring to Tallulah's husband.

"Oh he's just fine. It was difficult coping with his condition at first, but we're getting used to it now. I love the fella too much to give up on him yet." Tallulah grew glassy-eyed while considering her relationship with Laszlo, who suffered from a heart condition which had caused her to leave work for a month a few weeks back. The lab assistant soon snapped out of her reverie when she realised the detective must have entered her lab for a reason. "Anyway, what did you want, honey?"

Martha turned around to face her partner, who had been ambling intuitively, hands deep in his pockets, around the lab while he patiently waited for their conversation to naturally come to a close. A vague apologetic look for excluding him in her eyes, Martha then addressed him. "Do you want to explain?"

"If you'd like me to." John suggested, then offered a hand to Tallulah as a greeting when he noticed her gaze sweeping up and down his figure. "'Ello! Name's John Smith, by the way. Lovely to meet you, Tallulah."

Tallulah gladly took John's hand, shaking it politely and giggling. "My, aren't you a gentleman! Nice to meet you too, sweetheart."

"Haven't you two met before?" Martha was slightly puzzled, since John and Tallulah had worked in the same building for at least a year.

"No, I don't tend to come down here often. I must have only been here twice in the last two years, and I didn't see Tallulah either time." John explained, grinning pleasantly at the kind-hearted lab assistant.

"That certainly is a shame!" Tallulah exclaimed.

"Anyway, we came down here to analyse some brick dust, funnily enough. It was Martha's idea, the genius she is – if we can find which field this dust originates from, then we can find where our suspect will be. Would you be able to match it up if we gave you a sample?" John asked, his brown eyes gazing excitably at Tallulah.

"Of course." She confirmed.

Martha grabbed the evidence bag containing the red dust from her pocket and handed it to her friend, smiling in appreciation. It took about twenty minutes for Tallulah to scan and analyse the brick dust. The two detectives thanked her profusely once she'd finished.

"You're welcome, my darlings. The results have been transferred to the fourth floor computer office, so you can match the data up with whichever field the dust comes from there. Good luck!" The lab assistant concluded, informing John and Martha about their next steps in the investigation.

"You really are an angel, Tallulah. Have a fantastic day!" John grinned and waved goodbye as he and Martha hurried out of the lab, keen for their case to progress. Tallulah waved and giggled in response.

"Do I really need to tell you to stop flirting with my friends now?" Martha teased John during their ascending elevator journey.

The detective inspector seemed taken aback and more than a little affronted by his partner's accusation. "What? No. I wasn't- Tallulah's married anyway!"

"Yeah, well that doesn't stop many people these days." Martha remarked accurately.

"Not me. Even if she wasn't married, I wouldn't-" John cut himself short, narrowing his eyes at his partner. "Are you taking the mickey?"

"Maybe." Martha couldn't resist smirking, but John responded similarly.

"Cheeky." John commented, unable to hold back a grin.

Once the lift had opened on the fourth floor, they entered the IT room and John greeted Larry enthusiastically.

"Larry! Larry, Larry, Larry, Larry, Larry. Oooh, don't try saying that name over and over again, it sounds really weird now. Bleuh." The last sound was emitted when John stuck his tongue out and scowled, as if he'd accidentally eaten a lemon and was communicating how disgustingly bitter the taste was. Martha failed to stifle a laugh while allowing John to continue. "Anyway! Brick dust results. Got 'em?"

Larry was vaguely astonished by John's energetic attitude and fast-paced tone, yet he managed to gather his wits about him enough to reply as he gestured to the computer. "Oh, er, yes, the results are right here. If we match this up with field soil in the area…"

Larry paused his speech while he tapped at the computer keyboard, searching the database and matching the analysis results. It only took a minute or two to complete. "Here we go – three fields within a thirty mile radius contain that type of brick dust."

John and Martha both scrutinised the screen intently before John remarked first. "Could you show us a bird's eye view of each of the fields or something?"

"Yeah, sure." After a few more clicks, Larry showed the three locations in a Google Earth style format, allowing the detectives more detail.

Pointing at the monitor screen of one field, John asked Larry to zoom in, which he did. A small brown square was revealed. "See that? That's a barn, most likely neglected or empty. It's the only field that has one."

Martha, rapidly catching onto John's thought process, added her knowledge to the situation. "The suspect would want somewhere to hide the victim, somewhere concealed from sky view, which will also make it sufficient for containing her so she can't escape easily."

"Exactly. That's where they'll be, I guarantee it." John nodded in approval, then turned back to Larry. "Thank you Larry, you've been extremely helpful. Martha?"

"Yes?"

"Come on. We've got a girl to rescue."


	11. Chapter 11

"Sarah, I think we know where Lisa's being held hostage – it's an abandoned barn in a field about fifteen miles away, we believe the suspect is very likely to have taken her there. We shouldn't need back-up, but keep them on speed dial or whatever just in case, I'll call you if they're needed. Priority is to keep Lisa safe, first and foremost, but an arrest of the suspect will be attempted." John reeled off his and Martha's plan of action for the near future to DCI Smith in an impressively professional manner once they'd dashed down the stairs to the third floor. Martha closely followed him, studying his and DCI Smith's facial expressions in order to discover whether they held an optimistic or pessimistic attitude towards their current situation. Thankfully, it turned out to be the former.

"Good work, John. The-" DCI Smith began a reply, however she was interrupted.

"Well, _actually_ , it was Martha who found the brick dust at the crime scene, leading to analysis which showed which field Lisa is being held in, so I'd say she deserves most of the credit, not me." John couldn't resist correcting his boss if it meant his partner would get more praise and recognition.

"Erm, we're kind of on a schedule right now. Save it for later, eh?" The detective sergeant muttered to John as an aside so he wouldn't get in trouble for interrupting the boss. Despite her reproachful tone, she still made sure to smile warmly at John to show her appreciation of his comment.

"Yes, thank you John – good work, Martha." Sarah Jane glared sternly at the detective inspector as expected, then nodded at Martha in acknowledgment of her skill in solving the case. She then turned back to her partner. "Since time truly is of the essence in kidnapping cases, I suggest you cease your unnecessary chatter, John, and get to finding Miss Hallett immediately."

Looking mildly embarrassed and definitely sheepish, John scratched the back of his head and appeared to stoop a little (probably due to being humbled) as he replied. "Ah, yes! Yes. Yes, of course. I'll – er, we'll get to it right away, boss. Bye!"

Rolling her eyes and sharing a knowing look with her boss, Martha then whirled around and hurried away when she realised that John had left without officially warning her.

"Come on, Martha!" He yelled impatiently from half-way down the next flight of stairs. It was evident he was desperate to reach the victim and save her as soon as possible, whether it was because of DCI Smith encouraging him, or simply his duty as an officer of the law.

"I'm coming!" Martha shouted back as she scuttled down the steps after him, not being bothered to wait for the lift to arrive on her floor. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." She uttered in a vaguely irritable voice under her breath.

Once the detective sergeant had caught up with her partner, the two of them jogged to John's blue Mini Cooper and leapt in, slamming the doors behind them. Martha grabbed the map they'd been using that morning and managed to locate the field they needed to drive to. For once, she didn't mind John's horrendous driving – or rather, she simply managed to ignore it – as she called out instructions and directions for her partner on the way there. After all, getting to Lisa was all that mattered in those twenty minutes or so, not so much how they got to her.

On arriving at the field, it took both of them a few minutes to figure out where the barn was, and then another few minutes to drive to it. When they parked up in front of the barn, Martha opened the glove compartment and extricated her hand gun from it, instantly earning a disapproving look from John.

"Is that thing even authorised? How are you allowed to have it?" He inquired.

"I worked with Special Forces for a few months, about a year ago. Since then, I've just kept it for emergencies. I've got a license, don't worry." Martha attempted to reassure her partner, but to no avail.

John's eyebrows remained scrunched together critically, and a concerned frown clouded his features. "Does Sarah know you use it?"

"I don't _use_ it." Martha insisted, offended that John would think she'd ever casually shoot someone with it. "And she knows I'm in possession of it, yes."

The detective inspector's scowl only deepened, Martha's words clearly offering no consolation to him whatsoever. "Please put it away. Please, it's not right." He begged her.

"It's just a precaution. You do want to be protected, don't you?"

"I've never been hurt before, and I haven't touched a gun in my life." John snapped quickly. "Precautions can be more dangerous than the threat. You don't need it, Martha. Believe me."

Shaking her head in disbelief for a moment, Martha eventually held her hands up in the air in a surrender type gesture. She then returned her gun to the car. "Honestly – a police officer who condones using guns for protection. Never thought I'd meet one."

"I enforce the law, I don't enforce violence. And from my experience, guns promote violence rather than control it." John's argument was certainly valid, especially as he made it seem even more so by speaking in a monotone and staring levelly into his partner's eyes, refusing to back down.

Martha returned his gaze for a few seconds, then looked away. "Look, can we have this conversation another time? Our objective now is to save Lisa, we must concentrate on that."

John instantaneously broke out of his overtly sincere reverie due to Martha putting the situation back into perspective. "Of course. I'm sorry. So, plan of action?"

"I was thinking we go in, not too forceful at first or it'll probably either scare the suspect off or cause him to harm the victim, and we try to negotiate with him. If things go sideways, you distract him while I grab Lisa. Sound good?"

"Sounds brilliant." John grinned, once again forgetting himself in the frenzy of adrenaline associated with solving a crime and capturing the suspect. Things were finally going his way.

Creeping up to the barn, the two detectives stood on either side of the double doors – the main entrance to the building – and kept their eyes firmly fixed on each other to coordinate when they were going to enter.

"On the count of three." Martha mouthed to her partner, so the people inside the barn were unable to hear them and therefore gain awareness of their presence. "One… two… three!"

On Martha's signal, they both shoved the doors open dramatically, as if emphasising their arrival, and leapt into the barn. However, instead of participating in a potentially intense stand-off with the suspect, the victim caught up in the middle, John and Martha were met with a rather disappointing…

Nothing.

No one could be seen in the barn. In fact, the whole scene was pretty much desolate. After visually scanning the building for a sufficient length of time, the detectives turned to look at one another in confusion and slight shock.

"Well this is the opposite of what we prepared for…" Martha began, but soon trailed off when she noticed John place a finger to his lips, signalling for her to be quiet. Although she initially thought he was being quite rude by doing so, she soon realised it was because there was a muffled sobbing sound originating from somewhere inside the building, and he was trying to find the source of it.

Following the sound, John began to step softly and slowly around the edge of the barn, until he found himself stood in front of a pile of hay bales. After listening closely for another short while, he then beckoned his partner over with a simple 'come here' hand gesture without turning around. Gently advancing, Martha approached the area until she was stood slightly behind John. The detective inspector began to gradually edge around the hay, Martha in sync, until whoever it was concealing was revealed.

A young woman of twenty three years old (they only knew because they'd read the file) was curled up in the foetal position on the ground of the barn. Her hands were tied tightly under her chin with rope, and a strip of duct tape was fastened over her mouth. Fortunately, despite her turmoil and despair, she only had a slight graze on her forehead and bruises on her arms, nothing serious. Upon seeing the detectives, she closed her eyes and visibly deflated while immense relief washed over her. Without having to ask, John and Martha both knew she was Lisa Hallett.

Immediately rushing over to her, John cradled the girl's head and supported her while she sat up. He then gently pulled the duct tape from her mouth and set to the task of untying her bound wrists. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry this happened to you. I really am. But don't worry, you're safe now. I promise. Do you hear me? I promise I will not let anyone hurt you. You're completely safe."

While John repeated his continuous mantra of comfort for Lisa, Martha rapidly dashed around the room, checking every crevice to make sure the kidnapper was definitely not in the building. While doing this, she noticed a smaller singular door situated in the back corner of the barn that was ever so slightly ajar, and assumed that was where the suspect had escaped out of. She then exited the same door and did a quick circle of outside the barn, squinting into the distance to see if the kidnapper was around. Alas, he was well and truly gone. However, to confirm her suspicions, the detective sergeant asked the victim.

"Lisa?" She stooped down to the girl's level so as not to appear intimidating. "I know you've been through a lot in the past few hours, and I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you a couple of things about the person who took you. It won't take very long, I'll be quick. Is that okay?"

Still shaken after her ordeal, Lisa naturally trusted her saviours, therefore nodded and attempted to smile at the lady while John kept his arm around her, rubbing her back to soothe her. Grinning in return, Martha began her questions. "Now, the man who took you, is he still here?"

"N-no, I don't think so." Lisa shook her head to emphasise her point.

"Okay, that's alright. Do you know why he left?"

"It wasn't on purpose. Another man came in and made him go with him, then he shoved me on the ground." Tears were welling up in Lisa's eyes again as she was forced to relive part of her nightmare.

Martha leaned forward to hold her hand as another form of reassurance. "It's okay. Did you see the other man's face?"

"No, he-he didn't walk in front of me, and he was wearing a hoodie. I only knew he was a man because of his voice." Lisa continued.

"And did you see the man who took you? Did you know him?"

"I didn't know him, but I saw his face. I think I'd recognise him if I saw him again."

Martha smiled warmly at the girl again, glancing briefly at John to let him know she was finished and generally happy with her answers. "Thank you, Lisa. You've been so helpful and incredibly brave. You'll have to give a description of the man who took you back at the station, but first we'll get you checked over with a doctor and make sure you're comfortable, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much." Lisa spoke with such emotion and gratitude that it almost brought tears to Martha's eyes herself, but she suppressed them. After all, she and John had to act strong in front of her so she wasn't scared anymore.

As the three of them began to stand up to leave, John suddenly noticed a familiar white card with spidery handwriting on it, startlingly bright against the dull grey barn floor. Before Martha or Lisa noticed, he slipped it into his coat pocket and decided to read it later.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:**

 **I'm sorry I haven't updated this fic in a couple of weeks, but I should back to doing regular updates on a Wednesday/Thursday soon. Hope you're all enjoying this fic so far!**

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During the drive back to the precinct, Martha called DCI Smith to report briefly on the recent events; namely, that Lisa was safe but her kidnapper was still at large, as well as mentioning the other mystery man that had taken him away. Meanwhile, John cleared the backseat of his car so Lisa could sit there and found a shock blanket to wrap her in, so she was warm and relaxed. Out of respect and common decency, he also drove steadily and closer to the expected style of driving instead of speeding in a manic frenzy of excitement. Although the detective inspector was the one driving, he persisted in constantly turning round or glancing in the interior rear view mirror to check on Lisa.

"You alright back there, Lisa?" He inquired for at least the sixth time, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Yeah, I'm getting there. Thanks." The young woman smiled weakly at John via the mirror, drawing the blanket closer to her for comfort and security.

In an attempt to lighten the mood as well as empty his overactive mind of ludicrous speculations, John narrowed his eyes and began to verbally vomit. "I've never understood that phrase. 'Getting there'. People say stuff like 'I'm getting there', or 'we're getting there'. Getting where? Where are we getting? Is it a physical place, like how we're getting back to the station?"

"John." Martha interceded, but her partner ignored her and continued regardless.

"Or is it a metaphor? Is the elusive 'there' simply a happier or less stressful state of mind? And what exactly does 'getting' entail? Walking? Thinking? It doesn't make any sense-"

"John!" This time, the detective sergeant raised her voice and maintained a firm tone to ensure that John would actually listen to her and cease his seemingly endless monologue.

"Right! Sorry about that, I do babble on a bit sometimes. Well, when I say 'a bit', I really mean a lot. And by 'sometimes', I mean all the time. Well, most of the time. I'm sure you get the picture." John addressed Lisa with his apology and excessive explanation, causing Martha to roll her eyes.

The remainder of the journey was cloaked in silence, neither awkward nor comfortable; the detectives were both reviewing the case in their minds, though John was also refraining from annoying the others by chatting too much, and Lisa was still mentally recovering from her turmoil. When they finally did arrive and exit the vehicle, John once again secured his arm around Lisa's shoulders in a caring and almost paternal manner as he led her through reception and into a small medical office. In there, a doctor soon entered and administered a procedural check-up, discovering that Lisa's health was fine, and there were no lasting or severe injuries that had been inflicted upon her, only minor scratches and bruises.

While Lisa was getting checked, John and Martha both stood outside the room with their backs to the wall, arms folded. Despite it only being midday, Martha was fairly exhausted, having being unable to indulge in much sleep the previous night. John, on the other hand, was still internally as bright as a button. However, he was currently in deep thought, pondering the case just like he had been doing in the car. He was mostly considering the theory that the mysterious 'M' person was likely behind the disappearance (and possible death) of another suspect, due to the fact that another note had been left. John was desperate to read it, but he couldn't well do it in front of his partner – although he knew it was deceptive of him, the detective was reluctant to inform Martha about the second note. It was because he didn't want to worry her, and he knew it would worry her. Not telling her about it would surely result in her protection, so technically he was doing it for her own good. _Yeah, you keep telling yourself that_ , John thought to himself. At the end of the day, there was no excuse for being dishonest, not truly.

"What's on your mind?" Using a softly curious tone, Martha managed to retrieve John from being pensively cooped up inside his own head, gently guiding him back into the outside world.

Before he could reply – not that he'd know what to say anyway – the door to the medical office eased open to reveal a content Lisa, practically radiating relief due to her successful health. An equally pleased doctor stepped out from behind her and gave a thumbs up to John and Martha to let them know everything was fine. Grinning back at them, John took the opportunity to avoid an attempt at conversing with Martha by walking in step with Lisa on the way to an interview room. As they stepped in, Martha stood by the door and John stood in front of the table that Lisa sat down at.

"Now, Martha and I are going to ask you a few questions about everything that happened to you since last night. Not quite yet though. First, I'm going to get you a hot chocolate." John stated in such a way that made his words seem utterly irrefutable.

"John." Martha beckoned her partner over to her, a vaguely stern look in her eye. Striding over to the door (which didn't take long, taking into account how long his legs were), John glanced at her in confusion, prompting an explanation. Martha sighed. "Lisa is twenty three years old. She's not a kid anymore!"

"So…?"

"So why are you offering her hot chocolate?"

John visibly recoiled, as if Martha's remark was actually offensive to him. "Oh, Martha! Martha Jones… I thought better of you. Anyone can have hot chocolate – it's not an age-specific drink. Besides, I always think it makes things better. Don't you, Lisa?"

Lisa nodded in reply, unable to resist agreeing with the truth, although she still grinned at the detective's immaturity.

"I don't actually think we have any marshmallows left, but I'm fairly sure there's whipped cream." John continued, taking the hot chocolate issue jokingly serious.

"Great, thanks." Lisa showed her gratitude by smiling shyly again.

Turning back to an unimpressed Martha, John held a triumphant expression. "See?"

While the detective inspector leapt out of the room on his hot chocolate run, Martha sighed again and sat down in front of Lisa. "Sorry about him. He's always like this."

"No, don't worry. I think he's a lovely man." Lisa made a good point – John's debatably irritatingly eccentric behaviour was simply an act to help him and those around him cope with whatever troubles life may throw at them. He just wanted to make people happy, and it certainly worked.

Smiling in agreement, Martha decided to make progress in their conversation by changing the subject back to the matter at hand. "Okay, well I'm going to ask you a few more questions about what happened. I'll be recording everything you say as a statement to be potentially used in court when we catch the perpetrator, but only if you formally agree to it. Is that okay?"

"Yes, absolutely." Lisa was almost enthusiastic about her cooperation, which was a little surprising considering what she'd been through. Then again, it was only natural that she would be eager to provide evidence to help catch and charge the suspect, and she was also once again in a safe environment, which Martha supposed Lisa would be relieved about.

"Thank you." The detective sergeant pressed the record button on the tape recorder as she posed her initial inquiry. "First of all, can you talk me through what happened? From around nine o'clock last night, up until DI Smith and I found you."

And so began the interview. Around five minutes in, Martha had to pause the tape because John inevitably interrupted bearing a haphazard hot chocolate smothered in whipped cream for Lisa. He carried it with extreme – and one might even say unnecessary – caution, his tongue poking out of one side of his mouth as he made sure not to spill it, then he delivered it with a stunning grin. Following the minor setback, John promised to act professional, and the questions resumed as normal.

"Thank you so much, Lisa. You're a brave woman, and your statement will be very useful." John gazed intensely into Lisa's eyes as he pressed the stop button on the tape recorder, signifying the end of the interview. He spoke with great sincerity, placing his usual nonchalant and borderline childish attitude aside to ensure that she regarded him as a competent figure. "Martha and I have to go and review the evidence, but someone else will take care of you for a short while."

The detective sergeant nodded and smiled gratefully at Lisa as she rose from her seat and strode briskly through the door. Strolling close behind her, John followed suit, but turned back to wink reassuringly at Lisa before he left the room.

"Well she didn't tell us much we couldn't have already pieced together. Still, we can get an artist's impression of her kidnapper from her description of him, so we should be able to track him using that." Martha commented as they rounded the corner and found themselves in the reception area again.

"Yeah, good point." John replied cheerily. He stepped over to the rickety old coat stand that was hunched over in the corner of reception and hastily grabbed his tan trench coat that it was swathed in. However, getting a hold of his coat with such rapid abruptness caused an item previously tucked away safely in his pocket to fall free and gently float to the floor. A small piece of card, to be precise.

"Oh here, I'll get it." Martha instantly offered to pick it up for her partner.

"No, no, no, it's alright, I'll-" Being well aware of what was on the card, John scrambled to insist that he retrieve it instead, though he was too late; by this point, the detective sergeant had already stooped down and plucked the object from the ground politely.

Although she was initially smiling pleasantly since she was only too happy to do favours for people, Martha's expression soon dropped like a stone when she saw what was written on the card. The first impression of the words was that they were inscribed with reckless nonchalance, but on closer inspection they seemed to be written that way deliberately – it was almost like an incredibly subtle inference of threat. The card read:

 _Another of my puzzles solved. Congrats. – M xx_

Solemnity clouded Martha's usually bright face, as well as vague terror which nibbled away at the corners of her mind and darkly taunted the rest. Her tone altered and took on an intensely sincere quality as she confronted John about the card.

"Where did you find this?" Her voice shook slightly, despite her accusatory resolve.

John scratched the back of his head subconsciously, something he repeatedly did when nervous or humbled. He attempted to avoid Martha's gaze, but he was encompassed by her deeply fearful and despondent brown eyes. For once, he didn't have a clever answer, nor a drawn-out and irritating speculative one. "The, er, the barn. Where Lisa was."

"And when exactly were you going to tell me that you'd found this?" The detective inspector fumed, her tone now cutting and spiteful due to the overwhelming feeling that John had in some way betrayed her by neglecting to inform her of the full evidence of their latest case.

"Martha…" John sighed reluctantly.

"No, I'm serious. Were you ever going to tell me about this?"

"Of course I was – I was going to let you know later on today, I promise-"

"Oh, you _promise_ , do you?" Martha interrupted in a sarcastic manner, causing John to metaphorically stop in his tracks. "Just like you promised you wouldn't do any extra work without me after we found the first card?"

These words startled John, completely throwing him off track. "Well… yeah. I did promise you that, and I didn't do any extra work."

"You really think I'm gullible enough to believe that? I'm not stupid, John." Martha rolled her eyes, utterly exasperated.

"I know you're not stupid, Martha." John's tone softened, and he took hold of his partner's arm gently. "I know that. You just have to trust me on this, okay?"

"No." Martha pulled away from her partner, expressing her resilient attitude. "You have to tell DCI Smith, about this whole thing. In fact, tell the whole police force. This person, this new criminal we're dealing with, they're bigger than us. They're more than we can handle, and we need help. This is out of our control, John. But if we inform the rest of the police, get them to research and track down this dangerous person, then maybe we can stop them. Please, you have to listen to me."

"But we've got no leads, no background information, nothing that can help us track this person down. How are they supposed to help?" John pointed out.

"I don't know, but we can't keep this information to ourselves. We're only putting ourselves in danger – this criminal has already showed us that they're after us particularly, and they've killed someone to prove that. Please, John." Martha was now pleading with her partner.

After thinking about it for a few seconds, John finally gave in. "Okay. We'll tell Sarah. But only her first, then she can decide whether to tell the rest of the force or not, alright?"

"Fine." Martha smiled. Finally John had listened to her.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:**

 **First of all, I hope you all had a good Christmas and start to the New Year. Also, I have to apologise for my absence from writing this fic – it's been over 2 months! I've just been lacking in motivation recently, though I have been planning out future chapters and reading/watching episodes with the Doctor and Martha to revise their characterisation (I just want to get it right, this fic is important to me). So, I will try to update more regularly from now on. I hope you enjoy this chapter – reviews/follows/favourites are much appreciated!**

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On the way to DCI Smith's office, John and Martha paced with severe purpose. Due to the gravity of their situation concerning the criminal sending the notes (or 'M', as they seemed to refer to themself), they neglected to discuss anything, instead allowing a grave silence to descend upon them. Martha was still quite irritated with John for not telling her about the note straight away, although she could feel her grudge softening already; after all, John's actions – or lack thereof – hadn't gone unnoticed for long enough to increase their risk of getting harmed by M, and no one's safety had actually been compromised. This lack of consequence meant that John's secrecy was forgivable.

Before Martha could start making mental excuses for John, she asked him his motives outright. "Why did you hide the card, John?"

Acting vaguely startled, John turned to glance at his partner, not expecting her to question him. "I don't know. I guess I was being an idiot. No surprise there."

"You must have had a reason for it." Martha urged, refusing to allow her perfectly rational intrigue to be dismissed. She deserved a decent answer.

"I don't know!" John snapped, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide as he flung his arms in the air in a gesture of annoyance.

Martha appeared affronted, glaring at John as she awaited a proper explanation as well as a potential apology.

Sighing regretfully, John continued. "I just- Look, you were right about this criminal being dangerous. We haven't even met them, but I know they're cunning, manipulative, and tenacious, judging by the notes I've seen so far. I suppose I just wanted to protect you."

"Didn't it cross your mind that if you left me in the dark about it, you'd be putting me in more danger?" Martha pointed out.

John scratched the back of his head subconsciously as he replied in a humble tone. "Yeeeaaah, that probably does make more sense…"

Martha smiled in good humour. "Admit it – I'm right."

John simply couldn't bring himself to say it, instead returning his partner's smile. However, his joking expression soon dropped, and his voice lowered in sincerity. "In this line of work, I tend to attract trouble. I don't want those around me getting hurt in the collateral, that's all."

"In this line of work, John, we don't attract trouble, we go looking for it. Technically, we go looking for the person causing the trouble and arrest them, but you get my point." Martha gazed up into John's eyes. "What I mean is, I'm part of this job too. You're not alone, and you don't have to work that way. Whatever difficulty might be coming our way, we'll face it together."

"I haven't worked with anyone in a few years, so I'm still getting used to it. People I work with, people I'm close to… I don't want them to get hurt. I won't let them, not on my watch. Not again." John avoided Martha's gaze as he uttered his last few words. His eyes glazed over slightly, as if he were mentally staring into the distance, and the lines in his face appeared harsher. It was an expression Martha had seen a few times on her partner's face now, and it made her wonder if she'd ever hear the story behind it.

However, before she could bring up the matter, the two of them had arrived at DCI Smith's office. It was certainly good timing for John to evade any further interrogation, but bad timing for Martha and her relentless curiosity. Stooping a little, John reached for the low-situated door handle.

The moment they entered DCI Smith's office, John concealed his ambiguously pained emotions by plastering a great big grin on his face and lightening his tone of voice. Martha was quite taken aback by his transformation; John's completely opposing expressions sometimes made him barely recognisable as the same man when his mood altered so abruptly. It caused her to wonder if she actually knew who he truly was.

John addressed their boss first, maintaining a cheery tone. "'Ello Sarah Jane Sm-"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" DCI Smith asked, not even glancing up from her desk.

"I didn't think you were a kiss-on-the-cheek greeting type of person. Or did you want me to remove my shoes?" Although John's words seemed sarcastic, his inquiry was, in fact, almost genuine.

Looking up from her desk, DCI Smith replied with a hint of irritation. "You didn't knock. I would appreciate it if you knocked before entering in future."

"Ah, right. Sorry." Backtracking comically, John reached his arm around the door and rapped his knuckles on it. "There we go! Can I come in now?"

Rolling her eyes, DCI Smith ignored John's comment, instead preferring to get down to business. "What did you want to see me about? I heard you found Lisa Hallett – any news on the kidnapper yet?"

"She recorded her statement, and we'll probably get an artist's interpretation from her description, but apart from that, no." Martha replied professionally.

DCI Smith got the impression that the detective sergeant had more to say. "And? What else?" She prompted.

Martha glanced at John. He nodded slightly, encouraging her to continue. "The thing is, we've been finding these notes. Just small pieces of card with writing on them, at the last two crime scenes of the cases we've been working on. There was one in the pocket of Gray Eldak's body, and one in the barn where we found Lisa. We feel – well, John feels – like they're being directed at us. And we also have reason to believe that the person writing them is interfering with our cases."

Clearly disturbed by Martha's words, DCI Smith rose from her seat ominously, her features set in stone. When she spoke, her voice was deathly calm with an underlying hint of rapidly approaching thunder. "You mean to tell me that both of you, the civilians and criminals involved in your cases, _and_ potentially the officers working in my force are in danger from an unknown enemy?"

Shifting her feet and glancing downwards, Martha began to doubt herself when DCI Smith laid out their situation so bluntly. "Well, John thinks the notes are targeting me and him specifically, so I doubt the whole force is in trouble, and probably not even the people involved in cases – I mean, they're already compromised if they're part of a crime, so-"

"Martha." DCI Smith stopped her gently. Although she was quite annoyed about what she'd just been told, the chief inspector could sense that Martha felt fearful and guilty enough already, therefore she neglected to add to that. Besides, DCI Smith suspected John had more to do with finding the notes and not telling her about it straight away. Because of this suspicion, she directed her gaze primarily towards John when she next spoke.

"You should have told me when you found the first note, really. But there's no point holding that against you. What's done is done, and it's in the past now. It's important that we focus on what we currently know and what we can do about it." Her words were wise, and her tone steady.

Despite his concern about such a dangerously ambiguous threat, John's face erupted into a wide, toothy grin. "Sarah Jane Smith! See that, right there? That's what makes you a brilliant leader. Never panicking, never irrational, always getting to the point. There's no one else I'd rather have as my boss."

"Thank you John, I really do appreciate that. However, I am quite aware of my worth as a boss already, and we have work to do." DCI Smith smiled briefly at the detective inspector, before returning to her considerations about what action they should take. "What else do you know about the person leaving the notes?"

"Well that's it – nothing. The notes are all we have." Martha stated disappointedly.

"Show me them." DCI Smith requested, hoping she could discover some further information through the style of the message.

Stepping forward so he was beside Martha in front of the desk, John rummaged around in his coat pocket until he fished out both of the notes and thrust them into DCI Smith's hand. "There. Top one was found with Gray Eldak's body, bottom one was found in the barn with Lisa."

Scrutinizing the cards intently, DCI Smith attempted to find anything, even just a tiny detail, that could give her a clue as to who they were dealing with. She managed to deduce a few possible personality traits that could contribute towards the suspect's profile, but nothing solid.

"Judging by the messy scrawl of their handwriting, this person is likely casual about their actions, and probably rather reckless too. The tone of the first note is undoubtedly sinister, and the use of 'another' in the second one suggests this person is going to continue to interfere with cases until you meet face to face." Glancing up from the note, DCI Smith noticed John and Martha exchanging a worried look as a result of her suggestion that the criminal was going to meet them at some point. The boss hastily sought to reassure them. "Of course, I'm not saying this person is looking for you – if these notes are directed at you, which I'm fairly sure they are, then they know where you are. They know where to find you if they know where to leave the notes. If they wanted to meet you, they would have done so already. But no, they're clearly having fun unsettling you by leaving these little messages. They're messing with you, playing mind games to instigate paranoia… But why? Paranoia causes alertness, so you'd be more on guard for when they finally do make a move. Surely that would give you an advantage?"

John answered her almost immediately, his tone ominous and his face gradually clouding with horror the more he spoke. "Paranoia creates fear, more than anything else. That fear eventually becomes overwhelming, tainting judgement and the ability to make rational decisions. The person leaving these notes wants to scare us so much that we'll inevitably trip up – mess up a case, make a bad decision that exposes us, increases our vulnerability. Then they'll pounce."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Each person in the room could almost hear the others' brains ticking, working overtime, fuelled by grave concern that would escalate into full-blown panic if someone didn't ease the tense atmosphere soon.

Thankfully, DCI Smith spoke up, deciding to advance their plan of how to deal with the notes. "Although my speculations are quite possibly accurate, they are just speculations. Take the notes down to the lab and get them swabbed for DNA. I doubt you'll find anything, but it's worth a try nonetheless."

"Will do." John smiled at his boss in agreement, though a tinge of his usual enthusiasm had disappeared from behind it. It wasn't that he'd lost his eager attitude, it was just that his brooding fretfulness over such a perturbingly ambiguous enemy was now his primary concern.

"Other than that, we have no leads, so there's no way of finding this person. I suggest you continue working cases, but make sure to report back to me if you receive any more notes. Or if anything else unusual happens in general." DCI Smith requested.

"Of course. Thank you." Martha half-smiled, being less able to conceal her anxiety than her partner.

"Oh, and one more thing?" DCI Smith added, causing the two detectives to turn around as they headed towards the door. "Be careful."

Rather than inventing a verbal reply, John and Martha simply nodded, then left the room.

As expected, the DNA swab revealed nothing except for the obvious DNA of John, Martha, and DCI Smith. By then, it was almost half past four in the afternoon, and neither of them had even eaten lunch yet.

"God, I'm starving!" Martha complained as her stomach released an almighty, thunder-worthy rumble. "Do you mind if I just pop home and grab a sandwich or something? I mean, it's not as if we've got anything to work with at the moment."

"'Course not. I'll give you a lift. Staying cooped up in an office building always makes me restless, I could do with some fresh air." John commented as they entered the elevator once again.

The journey to Martha's flat was insufferably quiet, though not quite as severe as the time after they'd just discovered Gray Eldak's body. John's driving was also significantly more careful, which always indicated that he was wrapped up in troubled pondering. Soon enough, they arrived.

"Do you want anything to eat? There's enough to feed a whole family in my fridge." Martha joked as she was stepping out of John's car.

"Nah, I'm alright, thanks. I tend not to eat much when I'm working." _On a case that's scaring me_ , John neglected to add. He didn't want to worry Martha any more than she already was, hence why he kept his tone casual.

"Fair enough. I'll only be ten minutes." Strolling briskly into the block of flats, Martha didn't want to waste any time.

John leaned back in the driver's seat, relaxing for the limited time he suspected he'd have left before events really started kicking off. However, his eager eyes soon spotted something out of place; a small white object was slotted right in the edge of one of the windscreen wipers of his car. Frowning, John instantly threw open the door and strode around to the front of his car, inspecting the object more closely. It didn't take long before he realised what it was.

Plucking the card from the windscreen wiper, John simultaneously whipped his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket and hastily shoved them onto his face. The reckless scrawl of writing was easily recognisable:

 _If you involve other people, somewhere down the line, they're going to get hurt. You know what happened with Rose. – M xx_

With immediate effect, John's entire world froze around him. His eyes widened and his face was set with a fierce determination. "Rose. They know about Rose."

Before he could take any form of action, a startled shouting sounded from inside Martha's flat, echoing down the stairwell and through cracks in the doorframes. The release of adrenaline was triggered inside John, and pure terror coursed through his veins. He was instantly alert due to the undeniable alarm bells blaring in his mind. John's primary objective was to save his friend. He yelled her name as he proceeded to dash at top speed along the pavement and into the block of flats.

"MARTHA!"


End file.
